Killing Time
by CSIGeekFan
Summary: Set awhile after Sara’s return, when the team ends up tracking another serial killer. WIP. Spoilers - Season 8
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Killing Time  
****Rating:** T for now  
**Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Spoilers:** Through GBaGL  
**Summary:** Set awhile after Sara's return, when the team ends up tracking another serial killer.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own CSI, and make no profit from them.  
**A/N:** Thanks to wallacek for her idea on Sara's new job. Thanks to Seattlecsifan for the awesome beta.

**X X X**

He drove the Denali through the dust and dirt of the desert east of Ice Box Canyon, stealing an occasional glance at the occupant of the passenger seat. _She looks determined,_ Grissom thought, as Sara stared out the side window of the dim vehicle. Everything around them lay dark, illuminated only by the headlights stealing through the moonless night, illuminating kicked up dust. Braking softly, he reduced the speed to a slow crawl, coming to an eventual stop. Setting the parking brake, he leaned back in the driver's seat.

In his mind, the dark disappeared, and he saw the red Mustang, upside-down, and buried in the sand. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, as he stared into his own mind. Every possible scenario had blared down on him in the burning sun, with the single thought of, _she's tougher than hell_ repeating through his mind over and over.

When Sara touched his arm, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The vivid images that swam in front of him dissipated and he was once again enveloped in the dark.

Reaching up to the pulse point on his neck, Sara felt the accelerated pounding of blood roaring through his veins and simply stated, "You didn't find me here," with a casual shrug of her shoulder.

"We dug," he stated in a monotone voice, still staring straight ahead. "We saw the car, and Nick and I dug." Taking a deep silent breath, trying to force his heart rate down, he added, "Nick found your vest."

Moving her hand up to his cheek, she turned his head, rubbing the rocks forming his clenched jaw muscles. His eyes were dark as a stormy sea. As she swiped her thumb over his cheek, she smiled a bit, and said, "Chalk," making him grin at the memory that had excused a simple touch years before.

As his eyes calmed to cobalt, he huffed a laugh. "I never did believe that excuse." Pausing for a moment, he thought back to the case that had him checking his pulse outside a building with dust from walls he'd ripped out coating him. Eventually, he said, "I was just thankful you wanted to touch me." Turning his eyes away from her, she wondered if it was in shame or regret when he said, "The simple fact is I was terrified of what you wanted from me."

"I loved you then," she offhandedly stated, as if making any other factual statement. "I love you now. I'll love you always. Back then, I had to have an excuse to touch you. I don't now." One of the things he admired most about her straight-forward, no excuses manner.

For several moments, in the dark of the vehicle, with only the glow of the dash illuminating their profiles, they sat together, thinking about what had happened and what was to come. When he breathed in and exhaled slow, the final calm set over him, and her lips turned up slightly.

He said, "You're sure you want to do this," and glanced once again through the windshield of the SUV into the ink stained night. He knew there would be no way of arguing or cajoling her out of her decision. The question – or statement – had been rhetorical. In some respects, he admired her desire to drive away the last of it – that hint that remained in the form of occasional nightmares.

"Yeah," Sara replied, soberly, a sudden apprehension coursing through. The ramifications of her decision hit full force. "I think I need to do this. It's time to let the last of it go."

"Alone?" he asked, trying not to sound hopeful that she'd change her mind at least on this point and invite him to go with her. His forehead creased slightly, showing the only sign of worry on his face – worry that often went missed by others. However, Sara knew him better than anyone and could read the slight changes in his face easily.

"Yeah. I was alone then. I need to be alone now," she resolutely stated, picking up the small back pack in the seat behind her. Stepping out into the desert night, Sara looked up at the stars firing up the sky, and noted the changes the two years had made. It wasn't raining, and around her she could hear the night sounds of small creatures scurrying from the human presence. A soft breeze wafted across the desert, cooling the night and leveling sand, so she zipped up her jacket.

"I'll be fine," she said, although part of her still felt her arms tingle as hairs stood on end with small bursting shots of fear. Part of her still felt bitterly angry at becoming a victim. She'd had to fight her way through, breaking her own limb in the process. Yet it also brought her full circle in her life, making her redefine that secret part of her that continuously struggled with self-victimization.

Stepping out of the Denali, Grissom made his way around to her.

Holding up her cell phone before slipping it into her jacket pocket, and then holding up the bulky satellite radio before clipping it to her belt, she said, "I'm pretty sure I could call E.T. with the hardware you and Archie provided." The smirk on her face had her relaxing a bit, although she knew he still worried.

"I have several water bottles, a GPS unit with tracking capabilities, and an emergency locator beacon in my pack, baby," she said, smiling through her nerves. "If _anything_ happens, I'll set off the beacon and give you a call, all right?"

The crease in his brow turned to a full frown before he said, "I'll be out on the highway. If anything happens, the Marines will be sent in immediately."

**X X X**

Sara snorted, knowing he was talking about Brass, who'd appeared even more edgy than Gris over the prospect of Sara making the trek from where she'd been trapped under the car out to the highway. The detective's reaction had surprised her, when she'd informed him of her intent last week, asking for a couple of days off.

As her boss, Brass needed to sign off her vacation slip. He'd quietly recognized the date of her abduction and its anniversary, and asked his detective if she needed some company. He'd talked about keeping things bottled up, until he'd realized she'd zoned out on him and wasn't even pretending to listen. Sara figured he'd been concerned she'd drink herself into oblivion, instead of 'handling' it. That look in his eyes of feeling like she needed 'watching over' had made her cringe, but her track record hadn't exactly bolstered the remnants of his attitude. By the time she'd gotten out of sin city, she'd been about to explode. For that matter, when she'd returned and asked to be hired on in the squad, it had taken Brass more than just the standard probationary period before he'd considered himself satisfied with her mental state. So when she'd talked to him about the vacation slip, she shouldn't have been surprised by that _look_ he gave her.

She'd tried to be nonchalant when telling him about wanting to walk her desert path from car to highway, but the anxiety humming through her blood had been sniffed out by him. _He's like a damn bloodhound,_ she'd thought.

"Detective," he'd said to her, using the title of her new position within LVPD, in his no-nonsense manner, "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Brass, I'm doing it," she'd stated in a manner that brooked no argument. The determined, stony look on her face had told her supervisor that if he wanted to argue with her that was fine, but she _would_ win. Instead, he'd let out a long-suffering sigh and signed the form with, "I still think it's a bad idea."

**X X X**

When Grissom curved his palm across her cheek, it broke her reverie, and she leaned into the support his hand provided, taking in the feel of his calloused fingers. The scent of standard issue soap from the lab's bathroom permeated the still air around her, intermingled with the dry earthy smell that only desert sand could provide.

"If you don't leave now, I'll never do it," she stated, her fortitude battling her nerves. Pulling away from him, she stated, "I need you to go."

Nodding, he stepped out of reach. In the silent dark of night, he moved behind the driver's wheel, and headed back the direction in which they came, leaving her alone, kicking up dirt on his way out. He was troubled by what could happen to her in the desert. Part of him would repeatedly relive the events of that day, and he'd come to accept it as part of the penance he would continually pay for loving her. A cheap price in all.

She didn't move from the area at first, instead using the time to gaze up into the sky, and simply listen to life echoing off the canyon hills. Eventually, the dark became too much, and she pulled out her industrial flashlight and flipped it on.

Kneeling, Sara ran her hand through the sand in the run-off area. She had a good idea of the general location in which she'd been placed, and remembered the feel of the sand moving under the vehicle. The pouring water had shifted her and the car in an extraordinarily painful manner. Picking up a handful of the fine sand, she extended her fingers, and watched it cascade to the ground under the high wattage light she held in the other hand. Standing, she decided to examine the area around the gully.

The beam passed over a Joshua tree, surrounded by typical underbrush intermingled with cholla cacti. She made her way in that direction, and found the desert soil at her feet sturdier – more like soil than the sand in which she'd been trapped. Desert grass waved in the air moving swiftly about her, and she could _smell_ the desert life surrounding the place. Crouching down next to the nearby Joshua tree, she peered at a withering wild primrose, and plucked the remaining bloom. All around her were scents of dry brush, sage, and wildflowers. She didn't remember them from that night, and that was fine in her mind. Unfortunately, she _did_ remember the coyote. The damn thing still gave her chills.

Wandering around the perimeter of where she'd been buried in a known wash-out region of the basin, she laid out the area in her mind. The Red Rock Canyon Conservation Area was rimmed – canyons on the west, and mountains on the north and east, leaving a massive desert basin in the center. A huge run-off area lay near the canyons in the west, running north and south.

There was something almost comical that had she simply walked a single direction, she would have eventually found pavement. Sara didn't smirk at people who got lost and walked in circles anymore, as she'd done that herself.

With a self-deprecating snort, she decided she'd better check in or he'd worry.

Knowing she'd have no cell reception this close to the canyons, she flipped on the satellite radio. Dialing in the frequency they'd agreed upon, she held down the button, "Bugman, this is Desert Wanderer, come in," and waited for a response.

"Bugman?" he replied, a tinge of humor in his voice, and her shoulders relaxed a fraction. She hadn't realized how tense she'd become standing still in the dead of night; a time those rare waking nightmares came out to play in the form of a crime scene or an image too vivid running through her head.

Breathing out, she held down the button and grinned into the radio with a stern, "You're supposed to say 'over', Grissom. Over."

"I know," he replied from where he'd parked. He'd gotten off of highway one fifty nine onto the scenice byway that bordered the mountains to the east of the large basin of the conservation area, and settled himself up by Turtle Peak. "How far have you made it, dear? Over." He frowned, squinting out into the dark in her general direction when she didn't immediately reply.

"Not far. Over," she finally responded.

In half an hour, she'd rooted herself in place. With a rueful grin, she admitted to herself that Grissom's habit of procrastination at unwanted tasks had begun to rub off on her.

She didn't know the affect it had on Grissom until he asked, "Need me to come get you? Over." It wasn't hard for her to hear the distinctive edge in his voice, and she sighed.

"No. I'm heading out now. I just… I needed… This place has a history. I needed to hear and see the animals, bugs and vegetation around here. I needed to see the breeze move the dust across the floor of the desert, and cause the desert grasses to bend. I had to know that there's a history besides _mine_ here. Over."

Blowing out a harsh breath, Grissom glanced at the clock. Four twenty seven in the morning, in the dead of night, and he had left his best friend in the middle of a desert.

"I'm taking off now. I'll talk to you in awhile. Over and out," she said into the radio, and clipped it back onto her belt. She was just east of Ice Box Canyon – barely east of both the paved scenic byway and the dirt road that had taken her to the overturned Mustang. Feeling slightly ridiculous at knowing a paved road lay just a few football fields lengths west of her, she pulled out the map Nick had drawn her… and headed south and east.

She remembered that night. It had been overcast, the thick clouds still rolling above, even though the rain had passed. She'd struggled to find a point of reference, failing miserably since she had no idea where she had been placed. The only thing she'd been able to think to do was follow the water, and pray it led her to a road. Unfortunately, numbness had eventually settled into her bones at that point, and a heavy fog had enveloped her brain. She could focus on very little, but she'd remembered her training – leave clues.

Sara realized within just a hundred yards, that having the light on defeated the purpose of the trip, and flicked the button. The bright beam suddenly left everything in a dense dark, and she took a moment to calm her suddenly harsh breath. Letting her eyes adjust and her body calm, she realized that even on a moonless night, the dark gave off its own light. She also recognized that she didn't need Nick's map for this part. With sudden clarity, she remembered it all… and began to walk.

Stumbling over a rock and falling to her knees, she pushed herself up with trembling hands. _One step after another. You can do this._ Onwfard she marched into the blackness, the wind beginning to pick up, blowing a disorienting tune. Still, she could see the stars, and continued forward, noting the change in hue as the sky turned from ink black to cobalt and getting lighter, as rays of sun lit the unseen sky below the horizon. Step by step, she moved forward, and for a moment her pulse skittered, remembering the mind-numbing pain that accompanied the trek. Then she pulled her shoulders back, fiercely stated, "I'm not alone," into the wind and continued.

When Grissom glanced at the clock, he noted the time, finally gave in, and picked up the radio. It had been over an hour with no word. He knew she was moving, as the tracking device in her pack moved slowly south east. This was what she needed, but he couldn't stand the silence.

"Desert Wanderer, this is Bugman. Come in," he called into the radio. He stared into the two-way device, until he received, "Hey Bugman. Over."

"Is everything all right? Over."

"I didn't realize I would be this… uneasy. Over," she admitted, stilling at the sound of a coyote's call in the distance. There was nothing she could do about the wavering in her voice, so she didn't try.

He didn't offer to get her, but it took a lot to deny himself the desire. "What do you need? Over," he finally responded.

"I need to finish," she stated, the fear in her admittance gone, and steel back in her voice. "Over and out."

The sun was rising over the mountains when she came upon the trail leading up – the protruding rock providing a look-out. Standing in the light, letting the morning rays shine over her face, she took a couple swigs of water and contemplated the hill. The heat of the day had already begun to rise. However, morning desert heat of the eighties was not uncommon, and it would only get higher – fast.

Staring up at the small peak above her, she remembered standing in the very spot, and peered down at the dirt below her feet. Apparently, she'd walked past some unfortunate hiker caught in the run-off, drowned in the fine grains of sand. She hadn't been lucid at that point, so she noticed nothing beside specific things, like leaving a trail and getting to the hill to find out where the hell she'd landed.

She also remembered feeling a rush of adrenaline at the elation of finding that map on the desert floor, not because it would guide her out, but it meant she was somewhere where other people hiked and camped. Taking a few steps, she found three rocks and stacked them, leaving a trail. She thought, _You can be damn brilliant at times,_ and _was_ proud of that maneuver. Smiling, full of energy, she climbed the hill, and stood out on the peak, staring off into every direction and admiring the scenery.

Pulling out her cell phone, she was surprised to find she had a semi-decent signal. He answered on the first ring. "Hello, Sara."

"I'm as far as the peak," she informed Grissom. Talking her way through what had happened, as if it were any crime scene, she noted, "I think this is where I got turned around. When I went down the other side, I was still headed slightly toward the east, but I started working my way north instead of south." She took note of the route she'd taken, and actually felt fairly ridiculous standing on the peak.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"It's fine. I think I expected to feel something more… traumatizing, I guess," she stated, watching a hazy heat echo up from the basin, giving waves to the ground below. "I've got a beautiful view," she stated, "and it's getting hot." A trickle of sweat ran down the back of her neck at that statement, and her mouth felt dry in the beating sun. Turning around, she admired the canyons on her right, then turned to glance over at the mountains. The view from her small ridge was stunning in the heat of the morning sun.

"You don't sound even remotely nervous," he stated, and tugged a drink from his water bottle. Smiling, he got out of the SUV, starting to feel confined in the driver's seat. Making his way to the back, he popped the hatch, and sat in the shade provided.

"Do you have enough water?" he asked, and Sara rolled her eyes. Typically, it fell to her to ask questions like that. In an ordinary situation, Grissom would become so focused, he'd lose track of everything around him, until prodded.

"I've got a couple bottles left," she replied, and scanned off into the horizon, making a mental note of the next part of her trek. "I think I've had enough of a break at this point, so I'm going to head out."

"Take care and check in when you start getting closer," Grissom stated.

"Will do," she said, hanging up, and sliding the cell phone into her pack. Taking off the light jacket, she slid it into the pack as well, and grabbed a fresh water bottle. Hoisting the backpack to her shoulders, she said to the empty desert around her, "Time to go," and made her way forward.

One vivid memory came to mind as she half slid and half walked down the other side of the peak. She remembered falling, and for a moment a stabbing pain shot through her arm. Shaking the limb, she let the memory fall away, and made her way north. The swelling heat blazed down on her as she walked, and for half a moment she contemplated sacrificing her skin by removing her shirt.

Wiping her dusty arm across her forehead, she could feel the dirt on her arms spread to the thin layer of dust across her face. For a moment, her mind conjured the sensitivity of having dirt cake her, dry and scratching. It wasn't something she ever wanted to repeat.

As a general principal, Sara hated dwelling on the past, and resented that the desert brought so much of it back to her. Contemplating the changes the past two years had brought, she shook off the worst of the memories, and continued to march. Stopping at one point as the sun rose high, blaring down onto her shoulders, she grabbed her LVPD baseball cap from the pack, and covered her dark curls.

Taking a swig of water, she recapped the bottle, and made the call. She was surprised her cell still received a signal, albeit a weak one.

"I'm close to where I finally dropped," she stated through the obscure static, peering out onto the sand, wild grass, and brush. "I think I see the bush I collapsed under."

Watching the GPS tracking system, Grissom had seen her slowly move throughout the very dark morning and into the blaring heat of day. He still didn't know what to say to her about seeing her there in that place – no pulse, barely breathing. It wasn't one of his more fond memories.

Finally, he responded, "You're almost there, honey. I'm sitting on the side of the road. Keep heading the direction you are and you'll land straight in my lap."

Glancing at her cell, she noted the full battery and asked, "Mind if I walk and talk?"

"I wouldn't mind at all," he replied, sitting in the shade of the vehicle's open hatch. "So, Sara. Tell me about your day so far," he quipped, and winced at how crass he probably came across.

Her light laugh broke the silence surrounding her, as she headed toward the paved scenic byway she knew lay only a quarter mile or away. "It was a little freaky at first," she admitted. "I thought I'd feel a lot of the same things I did that night, but… I don't. It's just a desert."

"You're not dehydrated, you haven't been buried under a car, nearly drowned, broken your arm, and been walking in the heat of a blazing sun with no water for almost sixteen hours. It's not even past the end of graveyard shift. I can imagine you wouldn't feel the same," Grissom factually stated. Wiping sweat from his neck with a handkerchief, he then swiped his brow and stuffed it back into his pocket.

"Tell me what you see," he said, and she stopped in her tracks.

Looking around, she began to describe the desert surrounding her. "There are a lot of different types of underbrush, some gray and some green. I've passed a variety of cholla cacti today, along with Joshua trees, some primroses, and a variety of assorted other wild flowers. Right now, I'm looking at some common yellow desert flowers." Continuing to walk, she added, "There's a lot of different kinds of bugs, but I've seen the majority of them when I've kicked over a stone, particularly now that the sun's up. I imagine they're seeking shade right now."

To prove the point, she kicked her foot at a rock in the sand. When it didn't move, she got annoyed and kicked it again. "This is stupid. The rock won't move," she muttered. Feeling like a kid who had to overturn _that particular_ rock out of sheer spite if nothing else, she bent down on one knee and began to dig at its edges. It wasn't until she'd wiped away a thick layer of caked on sand that she spoke again.

"Hey, Grissom?"

While he was used to hearing everything from 'Gil' to 'Gris' to 'Grissom' tumble from her mouth, it was the tone that had him standing from his relaxed spot in the back of the SUV and taking a step in her direction. The tone was all business.

"Hey Sara? What's going on?"

"You need to bring out your field kit," she stated before letting out a long sigh. Standing up she waved to him just a few hundred feet from the road. Lowering her arm, she added, "I think I just found a body."

**X X X**

**TBC.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I appreciate the feedback. I hope you enjoy...

**X X X**

Jim Brass stood off to the side, watching with a typical smirk on his face. The third time he'd said, "I told you it was a bad idea," Sara had wondered if she could get fired for punching her boss in the face. After receiving what had long ago been labeled the 'Sidle Death Glare', he'd subsided.

Grissom's kit lay fifteen feet from the area of the buried skull. He'd donned his straw hat and Sara had pulled her hair back and up into the baseball cap she wore low over her eyes. The two worked quietly, side-by-side, making occasional comments. To Brass, their kind of geek-speak usually indicated nap time for him. While they seemed to get off on the analysis, he much preferred a straight-forward report on the findings. _Leave methods to __**them**__, _he thought.

His reverie broke, when Sara gently lifted the carefully dug skull from the ground. Brass had to roll his eyes, when the _both of them_ leaned in to do something disgusting – sniff the remains they'd dug up so far. Contemplatively, Sara looked up at Brass and said, "It smells like dirt."

"You can sniff and lick whatever you want. I don't need to know the details of the scent or taste," he stated, keeping a straight face. Sara smirked, making no other comments. She'd figured out long ago that Brass was one to listen and pay attention. He would know that no scent indicated the remains had been in the desert at least three years.

When Grissom pulled out a hand trowel and began to carefully dig out the area around where the skull had been unearthed, Brass rubbed his burning eyes. He'd been on a case earlier in the day, but handed it over to the techies to finish off. Not surprisingly, he'd left that scene when Grissom had called to inform him of Sara's find.

Squinting, as dust drifted around him in the mild breeze, Brass watched Sara swipe at the dirt on her nose. For a moment, he just watched the duo work away at what they knew and loved. He'd understood when he hired her, that Sara's first love would always be working side-by-side with Grissom. Her second love would be the puzzle of the work. As long as she brought the bad guy in, he didn't care that she was still in some ways a criminalist first and detective second.

Everything became stale and monotonous as he stood there, with nobody to interrogate. Finally breaking the silence, he asked Sara, "So, how many dead bodies _did_ you miss out here?"

"Cute, Jim. Really cute," she muttered back, glaring up at him, holding back the grin threatening to edge its way out. She couldn't overlook the irony of the situation – she'd been damn near a corpse herself, had managed to step over one poor, dead hiker, and not quite make it the fifty or so yards to find the remains of _this_ poor guy… or gal.

While she stared up at Brass, squinting her eyes against the harsh rays of light that seemed to sweep in and torture them, Grissom _glared_ up at his colleague, not happy about the remarks being made. "Sara, we need to lay out the rest of the grid," he stated, forcing her attention back to the ground.

"Hold up a sec," Sara muttered. "I'm going to see if we have any sifting screens in the car."

While she rose, both CSI supervisor and seasoned detective watched her stretch, bending backwards, then to the sides. With her muscles more relaxed, her lanky strides took her in the direction of the Denali, and they watched her disappear around to the back of the vehicle.

Standing, Grissom rolled his head, releasing a bit of the tension in his neck, strolling to stand next to Brass.

Quietly, the detective asked, "So… how'd it go?"

"I don't speak for her, Jim. You'll have to ask Sara if you want to know."

Glancing over at his friend, Brass finally acquiesced with, "Fair enough."

When Sara returned with a scowl on her face, Grissom figured she didn't find anything with which to sift the dirt.

"We'll just have to wait," Grissom stated.

Looking to Grissom for confirmation, Brass asked, "Nick and Greg?"

"They've got the lightest load, since the scene you called in last night tied in with Warrick's ongoing gang shooting case," Grissom stated. "Catherine's being hammered by the press for the lack of progress on the Scott case right now. I didn't want to pull her away from it."

Brass's straight-face, "You didn't want to deal with Ecklie or the press, you mean," earned him a contemplative, "True," from the entomologist.

Making their way back to the Denali, Brass signaled for one of the uniformed officers, dressed in tan shirt and pants to stand guard over the site. For a moment, Brass envied the baseball caps pulled down over the uniform's eyes, and let out a long breath; and ran a hand over his head. Finding Sara digging through a cooler in the back of the Denali, Brass innocently asked, "Got a cold one in there for me?" Sara chuckled as she dug in and pulled out a fresh water bottle to slap into the outstretched hand.

"Well, if it can't be beer…" Brass sighed, and grinned as he twisted the cap and took a quick swig. Feeling a trickle of sweat make its way down his back, he grumbled a few mild profanities under his breath, glad he'd at least rid himself of his suit jacket. There was something seriously wrong about having to wear a suit and tie to work every day, when you lived in the middle of a desert.

Finally feeling a bit cooler thanks to the icy water, he asked, "So what do we have so far?"

While Sara propped herself to sit under the hatch of the SUV, she listened with half-closed eyes hidden by her shades, as Grissom explained.

"From the skull, I'd say we're looking at a Jane Doe," Grissom stated. "From the teeth, I'd say adult. Size can give us an eighty five percent or higher accuracy, when it comes to determining sex. The fact is an adult male skull tends to be bigger."

"Men _do_ tend to have bigger heads," Sara murmured, schooling her features.

"Cute," Brass quipped, straight-faced himself, before adding, "Then you must be a man."

They were both saved from a bicker-match when they heard the hum of a vehicle.

The oncoming Tahoe's tires kicked up dust and rock on its approaching path. Opening her eyes, she scooted off the back of the Denali, and watched Nick and Greg approach. Nick began decelerating long before approaching the rest of the vehicles settled in the basin; Sara presumed in an attempt to reduce the sheer amount of dirt that would need to settle over the _people_ working there.

Turning as one, Brass, Sara, and Grissom watched Nick and Greg approach in the Tahoe. Under three watchful eyes, the two additional CSIs slowly pulled up next to Grissom's Denali, and exited their own SUV.

Making his way over, shades covering his eyes, Greg grinned before asking, "Haven't you had enough of this place yet?" Shaking her head with a chuckle, she met the young CSI halfway and said, "Yeah, Greg. I've had _more_ than enough of this place."

Looking over to the Tahoe, she watched Nick lean lazily against the driver's side door. She had to wonder over his choice of wearing black in the blazing heat of the day. For several minutes she just watched his lanky frame lean against the vehicle, and Sara wondered why he wasn't moving; until she realized he wasn't looking at her. He was staring a little ways past her shoulders, and she knew what he was thinking.

While Grissom and Brass brought Greg up to speed, she made her way to the Texan. Leaning on the door next to him, she said, "That was a helluva day, wasn't it." Sara knew she had his attention. "You found me in the nick of time… Nick."

Grinning at the pun, she watched his face turn toward her, and saw his chest heave out a pent-up breath. "Yeah, darlin'. A helluva day. One I'm glad is over."

"Well, if it'll make you feel any better, I've got an emergency beacon, satellite tracking, and a whole slew of other hardware in my backpack. I can always wear it all. Just for you, Nick," she soberly stated, hoping to elicit some kind of response.

She didn't smile until he barked out a laugh, and smiled wide. "I just might take you up on that, Sar."

"Come on," she said, standing straight. Shrugging a shoulder, she turned to walk backward toward the three men next to the Denali. "I'll get you caught up on what I found on my stroll this morning." Before they approached the rest of the group, she glanced over.

"And Nick… it wasn't my day to die."

While Sara went over her detailed account of finding the skull, Nick and Greg observed the string already spiked out in a grid. There were a total of twenty five squares. Five across and five deep. Each square was two feet by two feet, making the current search area one hundred square feet.

Greg stared at the grid. No one liked doing the tedious sifting process required for analyzing an area surrounding human remains. He hated it even worse when it was done at the _end_ of his shift, and under the glare of a sun hell bent on defeating those dumb enough to be under it for any length of time.

Greg glanced over at Nick and said, "I guess we better get to work."

"I'll grab the sifting equipment and buckets," Nick stated, heading rapidly back to the Tahoe.

"Hey, Greg? Any idea when the coroner will get here?" Sara asked, crouching down to the now-kneeling CSI.

Greg distractedly said, "An hour or two," as he pulled on latex gloves, and began to run his palm lightly over the dirt. Sara moved from crouching to sitting on her knees, while she curiously watched as Greg laid his face near the desert floor.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm gaining perspective," he stated, purposely giving her a Grissom-esque answer, facial expression, voice impression and all. When he suddenly sat up and began moving toward a square near where the skull was found, she followed his progress. Greg reached out and used his gloved hand to gently wipe away some dirt. Letting out a low whistle, he motioned for Sara to take a look.

"HEY GRISSOM!" he yelled, his eyes narrowed and face set like stone – no emotion available or visible as the seriousness of the situation set in. Glancing up at the Sara, he stated, "I think we've got another body."

Leaning over his back for a better view, Sara made out what could potentially be another skull. When a shadow passed over her. Glancing over her shoulder, she found Brass and Grissom watching Greg sweep more grime across the object under his hand.

She couldn't help the smile though, when Brass let out a low whistle. Glaring up into the sun for a moment, he let out a long sigh, and continued, "That's one too many bodies for me. Sara, you found 'em. You get 'em." As more sweat trickled down his neck and back, he muttered, "I'm getting the hell out of this heat." Even Grissom grinned listening to Brass whistle a Sinatra tune on his way to his vehicle and away from the scene.

Brass's departure had Sara reminding herself of her position. She wasn't the crime scene investigator collecting evidence anymore. Taking a swig of her water, she watched through squinted eyes as Grissom, Greg, and Nick spoke quietly.

"Good find, Greg," Grissom eventually stated.

"Good enough for a raise?" the young CSI quipped.

"The county doesn't pay by the body," Grissom replied.

Greg cocked his head to the side, like he was seriously considering Grissom's words, before replying, "We'd be rich if they did."

Grissom grinned at Greg, before turning to look up at Nick who had moved to the far end of the grid. "I want you to run a sweep extending from the grid, out a hundred feet in every direction."

"What're you thinkin' Gris?" Nick asked, scanning out from where he stood.

"I'm thinking that if the skulls are this close to the surface, then they were either buried in a shallow grave, or a lot of erosion has occurred. Either way, we may have body parts scattered beyond the grid," Grissom explained.

"Have you called anyone in yet?" Nick asked, contemplating how much area needed to be covered, and praying he'd have more than half a dozen bodies doing the looking.

"Yeah, and they should be here soon. I called someone I know from the police academy."

While the three of them got back to work on the scene, Sara felt the fatigue of the long night hit every bone, and she suddenly felt cold and clammy. She casually sauntered over to the Denali, grabbed another bottle of water from the cooler, and chugged half of it down. With her head tilted back she ran the cool bottle over her neck and sat back further in the back of the vehicle and closed her eyes.

"Hey, are you okay?" Grissom quietly asked. She felt the back of the vehicle dip a bit at the weight of him sitting on the bumper, and she grinned.

"A bit tired," she reluctantly admitted. Taking a few deep breaths, she felt his hand rest on her lower leg that protruded straight out the back of the vehicle. "Give me a few and I'll help Nick when the cadets arrive."

"Sara…" Grissom left off, his sentence unfinished. His tone had her opening her eyes and smiling. "Gris, I'm actually fine. I just need to drink a bit more and try to leave it all behind." Staring out into the desert, she added, "Maybe this'll be good for me. The fact is, I could've been one of those. I could've died here, but I didn't."

Contemplatively, she watched the frown on his face darken his eyes, and the mere fact that so many people had cared enough to find her had her smiling wide. "Sometimes it's just good to know there's something worse in this world, Gil. Sometimes it's just good to know that the crap that gets thrown at you isn't so bad."

Taking another swig of water, she scooted forward to sit by him. Stepping out of the back of the Denali, she turned, held out her hand, and said, "Let's go see if we can't find a few other body parts to go with those skulls."

Accepting her help up, he stood, unclasped his fingers from hers, and shoved his hands in his pockets. Eventually, Sara asked, "So… would you like a little help with the dig since I'm here?"

Looking straight forward on their way to the marked grid, Grissom said, "In the words of me; Your assistance is always valued, my dear."

It took only another hour before the grid had to be expanded. Several bones had been retrieved from the outer edges. Holding out the blue nylon roping, Sara and Nick added several new lengths of rope, making the grid eight by eight, and expanding the search area to over 250 square feet.

When two vans slowly made their way toward the scene, Nick and Sara glanced at each other and grinned.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Nick asked, and received a laugh from the brunette.

Upon losing the first round, Sara cajoled, "Come on. Best two out of three," to his laughing denial.

"You lost fair and square, Sara. The cadets are all yours."

Sara became aware of Grissom standing behind her when his shadow blocked out the rays of the boiling sun. For a moment she felt blessedly cool. As Nick walked around to the other end of the search grid, Sara wryly stated, "I should never bet with our resident Texan."

The vans came to a full stop ten feet away from Grissom and Sara. As young cadets from the academy in Henderson piled out, looking wary and a bit uncomfortable, the detective and CSI supervisor made their way forward.

A middle-aged man dressed in a dark blue State Patrol uniform stepped forward, laugh lines evident on a face that had seen a bit of wear and tear. Smiling, the man held out his hand. "Gil Grissom. It's good to see you again. Been awhile since we've worked together."

"Sara, this is Officer Cedric Mason. He used to work patrol some time back," he stated by way of introduction. Looking back to the graying man in front of him, Grissom said, "It's been what… ten years since you took over training curriculum at the State Patrol's academy out in Henderson?"

Mason said, "Yeah, 'bout that. You're still a CSI, though." Had Sara closed her eyes, she would easily be able to see Brass overlay the rough and tough cop turned teacher. Mason seemed cut of the same old-school cloth as her supervisor.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Sara stated. "I'm Detective Sara Sidle, with the LVPD homicide unit."

When Mason glanced beyond her toward the search grid, he smiled and said, "It looks like you've got a hell of a mess going on." To which she sardonically replied, "You have no idea."

It was while the cadets were gathering around Mason that Sara and Grissom heard Nick shout, "HEY GUYS? HOW MANY TIBIAS SHOULD TWO PEOPLE HAVE?"

Mason followed as Sara and Grissom rapidly made their way over to where Nick perched over a segment of the grid. When the Texan glanced up and met their gazes, he let out a sigh and asked, "Since a person only has two tibias, and we currently have two skulls…" Nick shook his head, picked up a bone near his foot and asked, "Can I ask why I have now found tibia number five?"

Glancing at Grissom, Sara heaved out a sigh before muttering, "I think our day just got a lot longer."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Killing Time (Part 3)  
Rating:** T  
**Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Spoilers:** Season 8

The day ended up longer than any had anticipated. The sun had started to go down, as Sara led the group of cadets back to the vans. No point in searching in the dark, especially when no one had flagged much in the last several hours. The next sunrise would start the collection of the flags and the analysis of the items on the ground they marked. The CSIs would have to differentiate between rock and bone.

Nick had been right in predicting more than two bodies were buried within the perimeter of the grid. In light of that, the crew had done something unprecedented. They'd expanded the grid out to cover a twenty four by twenty four foot area. Unfortunately, they still were not done. However, when Greg emerged with another hand, fcomplete with intact fingers, everyone had been forced to admit that the scene was getting grisly.

Nick and Greg, both looking the worse for wear, along with fGrissom had laid out a long table with various sizes of clear Plexiglas boxes on it. The smaller containers held the six skulls that had been pulled out of the ground. The longer, partitioned containers held long bones, such as femurs and tibias.

Pieces and parts of bodies had been carefully screened from the ground, resulting in small fragments such as teeth. Larger sections of human remains had been pulled out, as well. The pit had not only grown in width and height, but in depth as well. What had started off as sifting down only a foot or two had resulted in a five foot deep trench, with cadets caked in dirt and sweat, carefully wielding hand trowels or shovels.

Several hours earlier when a cadet had stammered, "I… I… I think I found… something," Grissom, Greg, Nick, and Sara had all made their way over to where the young man crouched, wide-eyed over two feet down in the excavation. Carefully gripping the brush and wiping away at the layers, just as Grissom had shown him, officer Mayhew had looked up and asked, "Is this a skull?"

The pit had been dug deeper after that, but in the last foot or so, nothing had been found, and at some point, enough had to be enough.

Sara heard Grissom, Greg, and Nick approach.

Silently, they all stared at the miniature Plexiglas coffins on the table, until Grissom threw out, "Theories, anyone?"

"Do you really think there's enough evidence to determine how or why these women were killed?" Greg asked, a challenging smirk gracing his face. Greg seemed to be on a roll, casually tossing Grissom's own words back at the supervisor.

When Grissom raised an eyebrow at him and unblinkingly stared at Greg, the young CSI ran his hand through his hair, whose spikes had long since fallen.

"Just kidding," he muttered under his breath, while Nick grinned broadly. Crossing his arms over his chest, Nick looked first at the bones collected, then glanced at the dig, and the several cadets still in the pit.

"First off, none of them were buried all that deep," Nick stated. "Second, considering they were all buried around the same area, but at different depths, I would say they were **not** buried together."

Sara cocked her head, deep in thought, while she visualized the layout of the cordoned-off dig area. "I'd say there's a good chance they were buried at different times," she said, more to herself than her companions.

Taking the few steps over to the dig, she crouched down and the images of each skull and bone placement formed in her mind. "None of the bodies were buried at the same depth, so Nick's right. This wasn't a mass burial. Add into that the fact that even those bodies buried fairly close together were buried at different depths, and I'd say we have someone who planted these vics in the ground over time."

Grissom took a swig from his water bottle, the fatigue of the preceding night and the heat of the day sinking into him. Letting out a long breath, he looked first at Sara, then at Nick. "Right now, what the two of you have come up with fits the evidence." He sipped on his water bottle again before recapping it. "Now we need to finish collection, and see what the coroner can give us."

Greg turned a full circle, watching the red hue of the dipping sun strike vividly against the orange flags scattered for hundreds of feet in every direction… all the way out to the scenic byway. Blowing out a breath, he asked, "So when's Doc Robbins coming back to collect all of this?"

Chuckling lightly, Sara remembered the last visit by the coroner. He'd been none too happy with Grissom on his third trip out into the desert. The first trip hadn't been too memorable. Robbins had made his way around the site, letting out a breath along with a sarcastic, "At least with remains this old you don't have to worry about the stench." Upon collecting the remains dug up so far, and remarking over the size of the grid pattern, he'd left for the morgue… only to be called back a couple of hours later.

It seemed each time they thought they'd found the last of it, _something_ got unearthed. On the third trip, Robbins had bluntly said, "You can either let me do my job and find out something about our victims, or you can keep hauling my ass into the desert." He'd then stomped off in his awkward gait, muttering his way back to the coroner's van. They hadn't heard from him since.

"I think we'll wait until morning to give Al a call," Grissom stated, half grin - half grimace crossing his features. Watching the sun slowly disappear beyond the horizon, and noting the uniformed officers patrolling the roped-off perimeter of their search field, Grissom added, "We all need a set of fresh eyes." Glancing at Nick and Greg, he added, "Be here at dawn. We'll start collecting in daylight."

Without thinking, Sara reached into Grissom's front pocket, snagged the keys to the Denali and spun to head to their vehicle, just as the massive spot lights blared to life in the dim desert.

After rolling her eyes at Greg's, "Want _my_ keys, Sara?", she purposely stepped on his foot with her steel-toed boot as she made her way to the SUV, with Grissom absently making mental notes, following in her wake.

By the time Sara and Grissom got home, neither bothered to do more than drop their coats on the couch and keys and wallets on the table. Sara hadn't even bothered to go back to PD, instead opting to give Brass a call and leave a message on his cell stating she'd be back out at the scene at around five the next morning.

At ten o'clock, they stood in the shower together, giving winks and lascivious looks at one another, and by ten fifteen, they were asleep… face down on top of the blankets.

**X X X**

In the end, Sara and the team of CSIs calculated six victims. Doc Robbins would be able to confirm or refute the assessment.

Sitting across from Grissom, Sara held the autographed 'Ownership of Trigger' certificate and waited as he finished scanning the report in front of him. Eventually, he said, "So, Al agrees that we have six bodies. He's managed to somewhat attach the skeletal remains into human form, and is currently working on facial reconstruction for those skulls that were semi-intact."

"That should be four of the six. Two of them were fairly well hammered," she stated, lost in thought, but alert enough to hear him say, "I may call in Teri Miller to handle the other two."

While her first reaction was mild annoyance at the possibility of having to tolerate Grissom's ex-girlfriend, it was immediately replaced with concurrence. Teri Miller was a brilliant anthropologist, and had done excellent work in the past on recreating facial structure of skeletal remains. Sara admired Teri's ability to put together an image, based on little or no information. While existing software could help in recreating a face, some things simply needed to be handled by someone with experience… an expert.

"When are you going to call?" she asked.

"I already did," he distractedly replied, placing photos of the skulls out in front of him on the steel desk. "She's in Seattle, giving a series of lectures at the University of Washington." Glancing up, he added, "She'll be here tomorrow."

**X X X**

While Grissom and his crew worked on identification and evidence analysis, Sara sat at her desk at LVPD, and completed her paperwork. When Detective Cavaliere wandered over to her desk and dropped into the chair next to it, she shifted her attention and dropped her pen.

She and the seasoned detective had always had a reasonably amicable relationship prior to her leaving CSI and going to work for PD. However, since her return to Las Vegas, she'd found the man to be relatively annoying. For some reason, he'd forgotten that she'd once been a CSI and had processed a great number of homicide cases in her time with the lab. While she may have appreciated his concern, it annoyed her to no end that he seemed to think of her as some rookie at handling homicides.

"What's up?" she asked, glancing over at the dark haired man sitting in her 'visitors' chair.

"I just thought I'd see if you needed any help on the case," he offered, a magnanimous smile crossing his face. "You know you can always come to me if you're having any difficulties."

Trying not to let the smarmy smile get to her, she kindly replied, "Thanks Cavaliere, but I think I've got it handled."

When the look on his face dimmed a bit, she wondered what the hell was running through his mind, and then it hit her. Of all the detectives in the department, she'd just been handed what looked to be a serial murder case – the type of case that could make or break a career. As the seasoned detective sauntered away, his gait a bit stiff, she contemplated her next move.

The fact was, Sara had always had ambitions. At one time, she'd wanted to move up the food chain of the LVPD Crime Lab, but she'd blown that by damn near losing her mind. As an LVPD detective in the homicide unit, she had an opportunity to make a few points with other detectives. However, she needed to consider her options. Of all the detectives, Cavaliere was the last on the list of potential 'seconds' on this case. After all, while their relationship may have always been amicable, he could still be an annoying ass.

Grabbing her file, Sara stood in the bullpen and looked around at the various detectives. They all worked in the same large room. No cubicle walls separated them, so everyone generally knew what was going on with everyone else. Walking around the maze of desks, she stepped into the hall, noting how quiet everything seemed – no crazed druggies sitting on the bench, lulling themselves by speaking quietly to the voices in their head, and no screaming prostitutes half falling out of their clothes were in sight.

Making her way across the hall into Jim Brass's office, Sara dropped the file on his desk and was about the retreat, when the man in question stepped in.

"Hey, Sara. I was about to go find you," Brass stated, opening a desk drawer and tossing a sheet of paper inside. "I want to get caught up on the case."

When he used a hand to gesture toward a chair, Sara sat facing him. Behind his desk, he picked up the folder and glanced through. "Didn't I tell you not to find any more bodies?" Brass asked, his face stern but his voice giving away the humor he found in the entire situation.

"Yeah, well. I didn't put 'em there," she replied, sitting back in her chair. With the door open, Sara could hear general noise coming from across the hall. When someone laughed loudly at a joke, Sara's mind turned toward her 'political' dilemma. She didn't hear Brass until he waved a hand in front of her face, and cautiously ask, "Hey, Sara. You okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied… an automatic response. Snapping herself back to the present, she cocked her head to the side and considered the man in front of her. He'd moved heaven and earth at a time when she'd needed him most. While he might be one to claim that he'd do that for anyone, she knew better. They'd always had more than just a professional relationship. On a deeper level, she'd always considered him a mentor of sorts. Even more, she considered him a good friend.

Cautiously choosing her words, she asked, "If you had a high profile case and were new on the job… would it be considered a bad move to ask another detective to assist?"

Standing, Brass made his way to the door and closed it before returning to his chair. Smiling, he leaned forward, propping himself on an elbow, and leaning his weight into a relaxed slump.

"Are you asking if it's a dangerous move for a new person to make? Asking for help, perhaps from a seasoned detective that could give the new detective a step up, politically?" he asked, and received a sharp nod. Contemplating what he knew of internal politics, he replied, "Actually, it's probably an incredibly smart move." Watching her eyes, he carefully gauged her reaction when he added, "I'm surprised some of the detectives haven't already offered." The sneer on her lips, along with the sharpening of her dark brown eyes gave him the answer he sought. Brass had an idea who was making Sara the offer.

Finally, he asked, "Who do _you_ think the best person would be to assist?"

Sara had given a great deal of consideration to who _she _would want on the case with her, and also studied the 'Murder Board' to see who currently had the lightest case load. Only one person jumped out at her as someone she'd trust on this case. While their relationship may have been volatile at times, primarily due to mistrust, Sara _knew_ this particular person would give everything to the case.

"Sofia," Sara replied. "If I had a choice, I'd choose fSofia Curtis."

**X X X**

By the time Sara had worked through the day processing paperwork and well into her regular shift, she was tired and glad no calls had come in that night. Making her way down the hall, she passed Sofia walking the other way - immersed in a file. The blonde hadn't even noticed her, until Sara spun around and laid a hand on Sofia's arm.

Smiling, she said, "Hey, Sara," in her lilting voice, and gave the brunette her attention. Glancing around and making sure no ears were pressed to the walls, Sara finally said, "You wanna get a beer with me?"

At Sofia's surprised look, Sara added in a hushed tone, "I'd like to talk to you about something."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N – Thanks to everyone who's still reading this. I've really been humbled by the response I've gotten. And as usual, I really want to thank Seattlecsifan for being such a wonderful beta.

**X X X**

With shift over, Sara stepped into the bright sun, walking alongside Sofia toward their cars. Agreeing to meet at a neighborhood pub off the strip, they pulled in one behind the other, and made their way into the smoky interior. Grabbing a booth toward the back, Sara realized she hadn't let Grissom know she was going out for a beer. Flipping open her cell phone, she hit speed dial and went directly to his voice mail.

"Hey Gris, I'm going to be home a bit late today. I know you have court this morning, so I'll see you when I see you," Sara stated, and closed her phone before hooking it on her waist.

Glancing across the table, Sara watched the blond smirk.

"So… I think it's fair to say that I never stood a chance," Sofia drolly stated. "Although, I figured it out the one time we went to dinner." At Sara's cocked brow, she added, "He seemed… distracted the entire time. I figured out pretty quick that it was a woman."

Sofia waited until after the waitress left with their order before she continued, "It never occurred to me the woman on his mind was you." More thoughtfully, she added, "In hindsight, it's fairly obvious, but at the time..."

Smiling slightly and feeling a tad smug at the newfound knowledge, Sara sat back in the faux leather cushioned booth and studied the blond detective across from her a bit more. When the bottles were placed in front of them, and Sara's credit card handed over to start a tab, the brunette detective finally responded.

"I was jealous," she admitted, feeling a bit awkward with the confession. "I was pissed at him, too, because he was playing that damn little dance of his as far as our relationship was concerned." Taking a swig of her beer, she added, "And it did nothing to endear you to me or enhance any trust in you."

When Sofia merely stared at her, Sara figured if she was going to work with the woman, she had to be a little more honest with her – a little more willing to trust. Even after everything that had happened in the desert, and everything that had happened in San Francisco, very few people knew where or what she came from. Only those she held closest knew her past.

"When you ended up on the team, I was angry. We'd just been split up, and I couldn't tell if you were Ecklie's lackey or not," Sara bluntly stated, and watched Sofia's skin start to tinge pink. The anger blazing through the blonde's eyes didn't surprise Sara in the slightest. Nor did the verbal slap, "Who the hell were you to judge me?"

Leaning slightly forward and resting her arms on the dark wood table, Sara clarified one vital point in her mind. "It was _my_ team, and suddenly we had an outsider, hand-picked by Ecklie, working with us. How was I supposed to feel? How would _you_ have felt?"

Sighing, Sara held up her hand when Sofia began to respond. Quietly, Sara said, "Please, let me finish. If you want to bash me around then, then fine. However, I hope maybe you'll understand more when I get done, okay?"

When the blond acquiesced with a short nod, Sara began, "Not only had half the make-shift family I'd built get torn away, but new blood was added to the mix. You were added to our team. Throw on top of that, when I moved here, I lost any seniority I'd had as a CSI in Frisco. I'd finally begun working my way up, and here I get someone more senior than me tossed on."

Taking a calming breath, Sara continued her tale to the hardest part… the part she rarely talked about. "We had a few cases that hit close to home for me. Remember that dead kid with all the fractures? The one we found thrown out with the trash? You came in and offered to help me look through CPS cases that matched." When Sofia nodded, Sara said, "I could've been that kid."

Sofia sat up slightly, a look of surprise on her face, and Sara said, "Yeah. That could've been me thrown out with the trash." After taking a swig of her beer, Sara continued, "I was starting to remember way too much of what it felt like, it wasn't something I talked about. Ever. The only time it bubbled up was cases like that."

"So, I've got you pushing me to trust you, half my team cut off from me, and I felt like I was adrift again. On top of that, you asked Grissom to go out to dinner, and the bastard actually said yes." Smirking at the last of her statement, Sara took another swig, and relaxed a bit. She still hated talking about it, but it'd gotten easier after seeing a shrink for awhile. The bout of nervousness she felt at that particular moment had to do with stepping outside of her comfort zone and trusting Sofia with the intimate details of her life.

Squinting at the brunette, Sofia waited a few moments to formulate her response in her mind. Eventually, she said, "Well, I guess if the tables had been turned, I'd probably think you were a bitch, too."

Chuckling a bit at the sentiment, Sara relaxed into her seat, and let the chuckle fade to a smile. While she signaled the waitress for another round, Sofia said, "So. I'm assuming you didn't invite me here just to clear the air."

Once the waitress delivered the second pair of beers, Sara smiled at Sofia and asked, "How would you like to be part of the team that busts a potential serial killer?"

**X X X**

By the time Sara got home, she was ready for a shower and to sink into bed. The buzz she'd gotten off the three beers with Sofia had prompted the cab ride. Opening the front door, she was happily greeted by Hank and made it only as far as the sofa before dropping face-down. Reaching out a hand, she pat the dog, and murmured, "Daddy must be home" into the cushion. This statement was followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs leading up to the living room from the rest of their house.

When the man in question nudged her, Sara sat up and sighed, "Don't drink on an empty stomach," and smiled at Grissom.

At his raised eyebrow, Sara went on to explain her conversation with Sofia, and the purpose behind it. Listening carefully, he paraphrased back to make sure he had the whole thing straight in his head.

"You chose Sofia to be your partner on this case, which even Brass says is warranted considering the sheer number of bodies, in order to boost both of your careers," he stated thoughtfully. "I can see how this could help both of you. The media has gotten wind of it. Ecklie's gunning to talk to you, since Brass pointed him in your direction. Sofia will get to be part of the investigation, which is good for her. You'll get some recognition from the rest of the detectives in the P.D., which is good for you. You'll both be in on the bust, which is great for your solve rate."

"The only backlash I'm concerned with is the other detectives… the ones I didn't consult," she stated. Letting out something akin to a snorting laugh, she continued, "Although, I'm not _that_ worried." In reality, she _knew_ and was accepted by most of the detectives in her squad. The only one that might have harsh feelings was Cavaliere. In reality, she could care less what he felt.

For several moments, both of them relaxed into the cushions of the couch, and the comfort of each other, before Grissom stated, "I think you need food." Helping her up, they made their way to the kitchen.

Over fresh fruit and cereal, Sara asked when Teri was due in from Seattle.

"She gets in tonight and will be at the lab early tomorrow morning," Grissom stated. Making his way over to the counter, he grabbed a file and dropped it in front of her. "I figured you'd want these as soon as possible."

Pulling open the folder, Sara examined the pictures. Each was a re-creation of the skulls in what they _might have_ looked like. Next to each was the estimated age of the woman in question.

"The ages are all over the map," Sara stated. "Robbin's got 'late teens to early twenties' on a couple, 'over forty' on a couple, and a couple of these are still being processed." Rubbing her eyes, she said, "I hope the next few days reveal a little more data."

After taking a sip of his coffee, something at the back of Grissom's mind nudged its way forward, and he said, "Oh yeah. Al wanted me to let you know that one of the skulls Teri's going to be working on isn't as old as the others. He said he can't quite tell how long it's been in the ground, but he estimates around two to three years. Not all the human oils had seeped out of the bones yet."

"What about DNA?" Sara queried, and Grissom shrugged when he responded, "Still being processed. Everything's backed up right now, and Catherine and Warrick's cases are taking priority over everything. Their bodies are fresh."

Letting out a long sigh, Sara counseled herself to be patient. Seeing the slight frustration on her face, Grissom chuckled and said, "We CSIs can only work so fast, my dear."

Shaking her head and grinning in response, she grabbed their empty dishes, deposited them in the sink, and said, "Yeah. But a couple years ago, you had a CSI that was superhuman and could get things done instantly, like on the TV shows." With her back to him, she didn't see his smirk, and certainly didn't hear him approach under the sound of the water she began running in the sink. When one arm wrapped around her, and a masculine hand turned off the tap, he nuzzled her ear and asked, "Does my superhuman wife want to go to bed?"

Grinning broadly, she turned around in his arms and hugged him. The grin growing to a wicked smile, she murmured into his lips, "Only if you think you can handle it," before leaving him gaping in the kitchen.

**X X X**

Having ridden into work with Grissom, Sara made her way through the lab with an ease of experience. Since her return to Vegas, she'd been generally accepted back, although hesitantly at first. A lot of people had been a little leery of her the first time she walked past reception toward Grissom's office – even the people she'd worked with for years. Actually, a couple had been outright pissed at her. However, time had taken care of a lot of it. Conversations over meals had taken care of the rest. The 'boys' and Catherine knew where she came from, and eventually came to understand why she had to leave. While she may at times miss walking these halls, she was happy with where she landed.

Sara saw Ecklie before he saw her. She found it humorous that as a detective now with LVPD, Ecklie's tune had changed when it came to how he spoke with her. In the past, he could be condescending and a little overbearing. She'd always just shrugged it off, because it was a recognizable political trait in him, and she understood it. A couple of times she'd pushed back and gotten slapped down for it. However, he didn't hold the power over her position that he had before. _Screw the personnel rules_, she thought, and smiled at the man in question.

"I hear you're looking for me," she stated, approaching the assistant lab director.

"I'm starting to get calls on your case. The media wants to know where we stand with the evidence," he stated, his tone all business. "I need to know your game plan on releasing information."

Gesturing toward Grissom's empty office, she stepped in and closed the door. Taking a seat behind her husband's desk, Sara contemplated her next move on the case for a moment. Part of her didn't want _anything_ going to the press. She had a basic mistrust of reporters, as a lot who worked in law enforcement did. However, she knew they could be useful at times.

"Hold off the vultures until tomorrow evening," she resolutely stated. "I want all six women to have faces, and then I want the pictures and general ages released." Considering her tactics, she smiled. With the photos of the faces made available to the public, they might be able to catch a killer. After all, before they could really begin to move forward, they needed to know who these women were.

When Grissom stepped into his office and found her sitting in his chair, he leaned against his door frame and quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Comfortable?" he asked, and watched her grin and stand, ushering him to his desk.

"Grissom, I need to talk to you," Ecklie stated. Recognizing the tone of dismissal, Sara made her way out of Grissom's office with, "I'll see you later." Closing the door behind her, she made her way to her own job.

**X X X**

Standing over dead bodies was never fun, particularly at three in the morning, as a slight summer drizzle misted down. Sara stared down at the bashed remains of a young man in his early twenties; his legs a mangled mess, and blood coating him. The only part of him not caked in blood was the tattoo of a snake peeking out from under what she figured was a dingy gray shirt. Tilting her head, she followed the snake up the vic's neck, where the slithering tongue licking out near his ear.

"Even the snake looks dead," Sara stated. Glancing at Nick, she asked, "You solo tonight?" and received his grinning nod. Working a solo murder case was always a big deal. Not only did you _not_ have to share credit, but it was a challenge every CSI relished.

"Whaddya got?" Nick asked, looking around the street.

"The vic's name is Garrison Marks. I've got four witnesses that say a white Ford F-150, plowed him down," she stated. Nick followed her pointing hand to a small group of people – two sets of young, distraught couples – who were standing over by a flashing police cruiser. Crime scene tape had been placed around the scene in the middle of the residential street.

"I can't imagine it's going to be too hard to find the driver," Sara said. Her tone deep with disgust, she continued, "He was swerving all over the place, slammed right into this guy who was in the crosswalk, and kept going." Blowing out a breath, trying to get the rising anger tamped down, she finally gave a mirthless smirk when she said, "They got his license plate number. I've got a call in for a warrant on Lincoln Meeks and his truck."

As Nick crouched down over the body, Sara watched the coroner's van arrive on-scene. David Phillips approached with his usual grin, and eyed the body on the ground. "Let me know when you're ready," he said to Nick.

"Hey, Super Dave, it should only be a few," Nick replied.

Glancing up at the sky, David let the drifting warm mist wash on his skin before he said, "At least it's not pouring," to which Nick and Sara both nodded agreement. Trying to collect evidence in the rain was iffy at best, as the evidence washed away under pelting droplets.

"Still need to speed things up, though," Nick stated, as he took photos of the body. Glancing up, he said, "Help me roll the body," to Dave. While the two of them went to work, Sara went back to her witnesses.

"I'm going to need you to come downtown and make a formal statement," she said to the foursome, all college students at UNLV. They were dressed for a fancy night on the town, and had earlier explained they'd been out on a double-date and had dinner. Before heading back, they'd stopped off at the park down the street to continue the evening with private make-out sessions. "These officers will escort you there, and we'll make arrangements to take you home afterward." Nodding to the officers behind the foursome, they took their cue, and gently guided the witnesses into their cruisers.

**X X X**

True to her predictions, the case was wrapped up within a few hours. The driver had gotten hammered at a nightclub and drove home. His eyes had been so bleary and bloodshot, he hadn't even seen the man in the crosswalk, and had plowed right over the top. Nick had finished collecting the evidence at the scene in record time, and had followed her to the perp's house.

Parked in the garage was the Ford F-150, blood smears across the front and side, where the vic had been hit… and killed. The arrest was fast, and the shouting furious. Lincoln Meeks, an African American man in his late twenties and as big as a linebacker, didn't want to be arrested, and it took two offers to tackle and hold him down so Sara could cuff him.

As Meeks was loaded into the back of a cruiser, Sara headed out to the garage, and watched as Nick just shook his head and took photos of the blood stained vehicle.

"I'm just going to have the whole thing hauled to the garage," Nick stated, dropping the camera around his neck. "It didn't occur to me who you were talking about until I saw him. He's a lawyer, and a damn good one." As a flatbed truck pulled up, Nick continued, "I want to go over this with a fine-tooth comb."

Nodding in the direction of the driveway, Nick stated, "There's a trail of blood, as well. It's going to take time, but I'm going to follow it back." Looking back at the driveway, Sara noticed what he was talking about. Blood droplets led down the driveway and out onto the street… and most likely all the way back to the crime scene less than a mile away. Glancing up at the clouds gathering thicker and darker in the sky, he let out a sigh and said, "Guess I'm not solo on this anymore." Flipping open his cell phone, he made the call to get some assistance before a downpour could wash away anymore evidence.

**X X X**

Sara had intended to meet Grissom in his office before Teri Miller arrived. Unfortunately, by the time Sara got bad to the PD, filled out the massive amount of paperwork that went along with every arrest, and reported in to Brass, she was running almost an hour late. Making her way down the hall of the crime lab, she stuck her head into Catherine's office and cocked a brow. "Seen Grissom anywhere?"

"He's down in autopsy," Catherine stated. With a sly grin, she asked, "How do you like him hanging out with a former girlfriend?"

Sara grinned to herself, but held her face neutral when she very purposely replied in a husky voice, "I always wanted to have another woman in the room with us."


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: Killing Time (Part 5)  
Rating:** T  
**Author: CSIGeekFan**  
**Pairing:** Grissom/Sara  
**Disclaimer:** CBS owns CSI. I don't. I just wish I did.f  
**Beta:** The wonderful Seattlecsifan  
**Words:** Around 2350  
**Disclaimer:** CBS/Paramount owns CSI. I don't. Think they'd sell me the characters, so I can tweak with them?  
**Author's Note:** I'm not a physician, so if any of the science is off, please don't kill me. Wikipedia is my friend.

**X X X**

By the time Sara caught up with Grissom, she'd been down to autopsy, had run into Doc Robbins, who was in the middle of her hit-and-run's autopsy, and been redirected back to one of the layout rooms. Tapping lightly on the door, she didn't wait for an answer before opening the door, and slipping inside. Their backs were to her, but Grissom turned his head at the sound of the soft snick the door made when it closed.

She watched him grin like a boy in a candy store as she approached the table. It was evident he enjoyed watching Teri Miller perform her anthropological magic. The thin-framed woman, with sleek blond hair turned her head and gave a quick smile before standing back to show off what she'd done so far.

While Sara took a position directly in front of the skull, she vaguely heard Grissom making re-introductions, "Teri, I don't know if you remember Sara Sidle. It's been a few years." Had she not been so wrapped up in examining the intermeshing colors and textures of earthy brown skeletal remains with the harsh white of what appeared to be plaster, all blended together to form a complete skull, Sara might have responded. As it was, she just managed a vague waving of her hand, while she crouched down to get eye-level with the skull in front of her.

"These are tissue depth markers?" Sara finally asked, pointing to white objects stuck to various parts of the skull.

Teri explained, "There are twenty one common depth points on a skull. From those points, we can usually create a standard composite of the facial structure. In this case, because part of the skull is missing, namely the mandible as well as part of the right side of the face where the cheek would normally be, I am using 'best guess' processes mixed with basic physiology. While most faces are not perfectly symmetric, they're often very close. So, I used symmetry in re-creating the cheek, and a 'best fit' process in putting together the mandible."

"Amazing," Sara murmured. What had once been a fairly smashed and broken piece of bone seemed to be coming to life in front of her eyes. She'd watched computer programs take clean skeletons and generate images of faces; had watched them even take children and age them. However, she had never seen someone put a face together in front of her eyes. The last time Teri had helped out Sara had only seen the raw material and the end result.

Looking up at Grissom, she watched him smirk over her excitement. Laughing at her with his eyes, he quirked his lips and gave her a lopsided grin before saying, "It's going to take Teri a couple of hours before she gets the first victim's face filled in with clay."

The excitement of being able to see how all six victims might have looked hummed through Sara. Her mind began to go over her plan of action. First on the list was talking to Sofia to let her know a press conference was going to be scheduled for that afternoon – prior to the local evening newscast. Sara wanted the vics to be seen, because identification was vital if they wanted to solve this case.

When Grissom's cell phone buzzed, he read _Ecklie_ on the caller ID and promptly sent the assistant lab director directly to voice mail. Turning back to Teri, he asked, "What can we do?"

Shaking her head and smiling wide, Teri said, "Nothing, Gil. I just need some time to find out who we have here."

Inching a little closer to Sara, Grissom let out a long breath before saying, "I've been ducking Ecklie all morning – budget reports."

"Go," she murmured. "I want to watch Teri put our vic back together. I'll let you know when we have something." When he looked at her and raised an eyebrow, she gave a faint nod, and he left the room.

For fifteen minutes, Sara watched the anthropologist apply clay to the skull. Even seated in a tall stool at the tall table, Teri had to crouch over a bit to apply her craft. Stretching her neck muscles, she sat back, while Sara watched.

"I really appreciate you doing this for us, Teri," Sara stated in the quiet.

"I was surprised to get Gil's call," the blonde said. "Seeing as I was a short flight away, it wasn't a problem to get here." Glancing at the door she'd watched Grissom walk through earlier, she added, "Of course, I find it interesting that someone has finally taught him to ignore his cell phone." Teri looked Sara directly in the eye, when she added, "I'm assuming he has you to thank for that?"

Sara still felt a little uncomfortable with comments like this, yet couldn't help but respond with a sly, "I put it in the wedding vows."

**X X X**

Stepping into the hall, Sara watched Nick walk sedately away from her. As he approached Grissom's office, Nick stepped inside and Sara started to follow. When she arrived a moment later, Nick looked like he was ready to fall asleep in the chair across from Grissom. Nick was slumped down – a position he rarely used, unless he was excessively fatigued.

Leaning against the door jam, Sara heard the Texan mutter, "Man, I'm tired. Long shift. Doc doesn't have the autopsy results yet, so I'm heading home, unless you need something else."

Glancing up from the file in front of him, Grissom's own fatigued eyes glittered with humor when he saw her. "Well, be prepared for the media onslaught," he said, discreetly shifting his attention from Sara and back to Nick. At Nick's confused look, Grissom continued, "Sara's giving a press conference this afternoon about the bodies in the desert."

Nick's groaning, "Aw, man, as soon as she knocks the floodgates open, the pressure's gonna skyrocket." A wry grin on his face, he rhetorically asked, "Can you use your supervisory powers of persuasion to convince her not to release the hounds?" Nick was rewarded with one of Grissom's raised-brow expressions, while the older man looked over the top of his glasses and stared the CSI down.

The chuckle from the doorway had Nick sitting up a little higher and twisting his head. His wry grin turned to a full blown smile when he lightly said, "Hey Sara. Long time no see." Standing, he vacated the seat across from Grissom. The fatigue in Nick's eyes was overpowered by the glimmer of humor in them when he said, "I'd better get some sleep. I may not get the chance for awhile."

With a casual wave, Nick left Sara alone with Grissom.

"So, how is Teri doing on the facial reconstruction?" Grissom asked.

"Good," Sara replied. "She's about half done on the first; it'll be awhile longer on the second. Seeing as she isn't going to be done for hours yet, she suggested we plan on meeting her this afternoon, around three o'clock."

Glancing at the clock, he inwardly sighed when he realized that even if they went straight to sleep, they'd only be getting a few hours of rest. Rising, he murmured, "I'll drive," and laid his hand on her back, escorting her from the building.

**X X X**

Later, on the drive back to the lab, Sara explained the logistics of everything to Grissom. "Sofia's meeting us in your office," she stated. "Teri's supposed to arrive around three. We've got the reconstruction photos of the four vics generated via computer. With Teri's work, we'll have the last two." She contemplated for a moment before she added, "I'm primary on the case, so I'll be revealing the pictures to the media at four thirty."

Pulling into his parking slot, Grissom turned off the engine and turned to Sara and asked, "Have you ever given a press conference?"

"No," she stated. With a straight face, she said, "Thanks for making me nervous, though."

At his semi-guilty look, she grinned at him. She really _was_ nervous about it. Sure, she'd been filmed by news crews before, while working a case. More than once Sara had been in the background collecting evidence, while reporters speculated on the _who_ and _why_ of a high profile case. Heck, she'd even talked to a film crew following the graveyard shift while they performed their daily rituals. However, she'd never purposely stood in front of the microphones and spoken to the general media about an active case. That had always been Brass's thing to do. Or Ecklie's. Or Grissom's. Now it was hers.

"You can start by breathing," Grissom stated, not even bothering to mask the laughter in his voice. When she exhaled a long breath, he glanced around and leaned in for a kiss. "For luck, my dear," he succinctly stated before opening his door.

Stopping off in the DNA lab, Sara spoke with the Days lab tech, Evan Hutchins. However, the results were not what she wanted to hear.

"I couldn't pull nuclear DNA from the bones to compare to CODIS. They're simply too old, and there's nothing left to pull a full marker from. I was able to get mitochondrial DNA, but CODIS doesn't hold that level of data. The national database only contains genetic markers for nuclear DNA."

"So what you're saying is we have nothing," Sara stated.

"Not necessarily," he stated. "If you can find the family, I'll be able to match a victim to the parents. However, trying to match mitochondrial DNA to nuclear DNA is like comparing apples to oranges."

Flipping through pages of the file the tech handed her, Sara absently waved as she exited the DNA lab, with "Thanks, Evan. I appreciate this." Gracing the man with a smile, she made her way back to Grissom's office.

Sofia and Grissom were waiting for her. It didn't take long to get the blonde detective caught up on Sara's game plan. When Grissom's phone rang, he picked up, and the detectives heard him say, "Thank you, Judy." Hanging up, he looked to the women in front of him and said, "Teri's in the lobby. We'll meet you in layout room B."

As Grissom made his way to retrieve Teri, Sara and Sofia headed to layout. They were standing just outside the door when Sara's cell rang. Waving Sofia into the layout room, Sara stepped aside and flipped open her phone. It was the call she'd been waiting for. Her hit and run suspect was sobered up, awake, and ready to deal. As she relayed details to the sergeant in lock-up, Sara watched Teri and Grissom make their way to join Sofia.

It took several minutes to arrange, but she put the now sober and ranting Lincoln Meeks on ice. _A few more hours in a cell will do the trick_, Sara thought. Pushing open the door, she made her way inside, her blood humming with excitement over seeing the last of her two vics.

"So what do we have?" she asked, approaching the table. It wasn't until she saw the second vic that she simply stopped dead in her tracks. Her stomach flipped over, and Sara looked at Grissom when she said, "I know her."

**X X X**

The room was silent, as Sara inspected the re-creation of the face in front of her. "She has brown hair," Sara mused. "And brown eyes."

Turning, she looked at the occupants of the room. "Her name is Millicent Barker," she stated. "About two and a half – maybe three years ago – I had a missing person's case. A student at UNLV went missing. No witnesses, no clues. Brass and I worked the case, but it went cold."

"I remember this case," Grissom stated. "Nineteen year old from Cheyenne, Wyoming, studying chemistry. Her parents were here for two months, looking."

"It made regional news," Sofia stated. "Tons of leads came in, but nothing panned out."

Standing back, Sara looked at Sofia, a look of stubborn determination on her face. "We've got the first one identified. I don't want her on the news," Sara stated. Her face softened, when she added, "I need to call her parents."

Stepping into the hall, Sara first called Brass for Millicent's contact information. After getting him updated on the case, she ended the call with, "Thanks, Brass. We'll see you soon at the PD."

Making her way to Grissom's office, she stepped in and softly closed the door. Punching in the number, she made the call. "Mr. Barker? This is Sara Sidle with the Las Vegas Police Department. Sir, I believe we may have found your daughter…" For ten minutes, she told Millicent's father what they had and arranged for him and his wife to visit.

By the time she got off the phone, Sara sat behind her husband's desk in the dim office, with her head in her hands. She really hated this part of the job… hearing the resignation, or the weariness and wariness, or the shaking sobs of the family. In Mr. Barker's voice, she'd heard it all.

He and his wife would be arriving as soon as possible.

When the door opened, Sara lifted her head and watched Grissom walk in and sit across from her. "I don't know what I feel about making these calls," she frankly stated. "It's hell telling someone that their loved one is dead. But in cases like this… they needed to know. One way or another, they have to know what happened to their daughter."

"Closure," Grissom stated. "They need to end the wondering."

Standing up, Sara made her way around the desk. "Well, I've got a job to do. We've got one known vic. It's time to give names to the rest." Checking the time, she resolutely stated, "It's time to feed the vultures." Standing near Judy's desk, Sofia waited. Giving a nod to the blonde detective, Sara turned and said, "Wish me luck," to Grissom.

"Break a leg," he said with a subtle grin, before giving a subtle nod and heading back to his office.

"Are you ready for this?" Sofia asked, as she pulled out her car keys.

"Yeah," Sara replied. "Let's do it."

Side-by-side, they headed to the PD. It was time to face the media… and the music.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: Killing Time (Part 6)  
Rating:** T  
**Author: CSIGeekFan  
Pairings:** Grissom/Sara  
**Beta:** The ever fabulous Seattlecsifan  
**Words:** 3200 (approx.)  
**Disclaimer:** CBS owns CSI. They could make a mint if they raffle off Grissom. (_I'd_ make a bid.)

**X X X**

Sara made her way to the conference room long before the press conference was scheduled to begin. The muted gray room consisted of a small stage on one end, only a couple of feet off the ground. A mahogany podium stood in the center. Behind the podium, on the wall, hung a large screen, with the corresponding LCD projector affixed to the ceiling. She placed five easels in clear line-of-sight of where the media would sit in cheap police-issue, blue plastic chairs. On each easel Sara placed a blown up picture of a face, which was then covered with a sheet.

Once the media techs began to arrive for setup, she signaled a uniformed officer to stand inside the door – a silent greeting committee. Making her way down the hall, she stuck her head into Brass's office and gave the man a lopsided, nervous grin. When he grinned in response, the butterflies currently attempting to imitate bats began to settle, although the fatigue remained.

"You ready for this, kid?" he asked, stepping around his desk to face her. Getting a closer look at her face, he wryly asked, "Have you ever heard of concealer? Your eyes look like you've been punched."

Giving him a wide fake smile, she sardonically responded, "Thanks, Brass. Now we can be twins."

Chuckling, Brass replied, "Cute. Really cute."

Signaling with a jerk of her head, Sara backed out of Brass's dimly lit and often cluttered office, and waited for him to join her. As they passed the bullpen, Sara caught Sofia's eye and gave her a nod. Making their way sedately toward the conference room, the trio went over the game plan once again. By the time they arrived, Sara felt fairly confident, and resolved to making sure she didn't display anything _but _confidence. Stepping inside, the murmur of voices and the general din had grown from just the camera and microphone operators to include reporters, as well. The media hounds had arrived.

The last microphones were being setup on the podium by the various television and radio station crews. In the chairs lined up neatly in rows sat reporters, waiting semi-patiently for the briefing to begin (although Sara noted that the occasional comment or question was thrown out by one of the waiting bodies, and promptly ignored by all). Cameras lined the back and side walls. For several minutes, Sara watched the last cables and other technical items get put in place. In truth, she'd never thought of all the work it would take to set up the equipment or prepare questions.

Glancing up at the clock, she noted the time – four thirty – and stepped forward. She absolutely refused to glance back at Sofia and Brass when a moment of jittery panic hit. Instead, she forged her way through the deep-seated dread, and spoke with clear authority.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the media, I would like to thank you for coming here today. As you have heard, a couple of days ago several bodies were found buried in the Red Rock National Conservation Area. Since then, we have managed to create images of what the victims – all women – _may_ have looked like."

With the media all focused solely on her, it was time to turn the tides, and put the focus on the victims. As Brass and Sofia pulled down the sheets, the faces came to life for the reporters, and lights from cameras began to flash. The generally low murmur began to grow, until Sara continued her statement.

"In front of you are five women. I'm asking you to take a good look at them – a really good look. We don't know who they are. We need your help in identifying them, so we can give them the justice they deserve. We need your help in giving their families closure. We need your help to simply give them peace."

The murmur had died down during her speech, and in the quiet Sara added, "The LVPD needs your help in getting their faces out to the public. Bringing their killer to justice is the least that _all_ of us can do for these women."

Looking around the room, Sara said, "I'll open it up for questions."

The first question shouted out was, "Who found the bodies?"

"A hiker in the area. Next," Sara answered, and ignored the hard thump in her chest.

"Are there more bodies than the ones you've shown us?" asked another reporter.

"Yes. Six bodies were found," Sara stated. "We are waiting on notification and identification by the family before anything more is said on the sixth body found. Next."

"Isn't that the area where the Miniature Killer trapped you under a car?" gave Sara momentary pause; she trembled until she clenched her hand, stretched her fingers out until they hurt, and composed herself.

It took a couple of seconds, but she responded, "Yes, and it's irrelevant to the needs of the women in these pictures." Clicking a button, Sara prompted the LCD player to bring up a single screen showing all five women, side-by-side. Catching the eye of one reporter, then another, and then another, she waited until the noise died down before continuing, "We all have a responsibility here to find out who they were, and what happened to them. Each of them had a mother and a father, maybe siblings… maybe children. As human beings, we have an obligation to identify them, so they can rest in peace. Next question."

"Do you have any idea how long these women have been there?" a reporter in the front row asked.

"That's part of an ongoing investigation." Looking around the room, Sara listened to reporters toss questions out, until she finally raised her hand and waited for the room to quiet down.

"When I can answer more questions, I will. However, as the investigation has just begun, we have a limited amount of information that can be shared." Changing her tone to that of dismissal, she finalized the press conference with, "Thank you all for coming. The Las Vegas Police Department truly appreciates your assistance in this manner," and backed away from the podium. Reporters continued to throw out questions, only louder, as she walked out of the conference room.

Sara led the way down the hall to Brass's office and sat down heavily in the chair in front of his desk. When Sofia and Brass stepped in behind her, he closed the door and blinds.

His timing was perfect, as Sara lowered her head between her legs in an attempt to breathe. "Damn it," she muttered to the floor, "I should've anticipated the question about Natalie."

"You handled it beautifully," Sofia stated. "You kept the press under control, answered their questions, and continually refocused them on the victims."

Lifting her head and feeling a bit flushed, she glanced at Brass, who had taken his seat behind his desk. Sara muttered, "I really hated Debate in high school. I _still _hate public speaking."

"Get used to it," Brass said, a small smile playing across his craggy features. "You'll be getting more requests for press conferences on this matter."

"So what happens now?" Sara asked her supervisor, still unsure of the whole media process.

"The news organizations will take the information you've given them, type it up for the anchors, and air the photos we provided. Since it's an old case, they'll more than likely have some small statement to make and show off the pictures on the news," Brass explained.

"Good," Sara stated, rising from her chair. "Hopefully the women will be recognized. Someone out there must be missing them."

Looking at Brass and Sofia, Sara smiled slightly, a far happier thought filtering through her head. Grinning wide, she said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go nail someone to the wall for vehicular manslaughter, driving under the influence, reckless driving, and anything else I can think of." She whistled down the hall toward interrogation.

**X X X**

Lincoln Meeks sat upright in his chair when Sara walked into the interrogation room.

"Mr. Meeks," she said, and then looked around. "I thought you requested an attorney?"

"He did," stated a woman being escorted through the door by a uniformed officer. Extending her hand, the attorney introduced herself, "Mallory Christopher. I'll be representing Mr. Meeks."

As she took a seat next to her client, she glanced up at Sara and smiled. "I'd like five minutes alone with my client," she stated, and turned back to Meeks. The tone and action were an obvious dismissal in Sara's mind.

Always one for wanting the last word, though, Sara merely smiled and said, "Five minutes it is. I could use a couple minutes to look through your client's tox screen report, as well as the evidence log provided by the Crime Scene Investigator on the case." Purposely flipping open the file, she grinned wide and said, "Wow. There's an awful lot of evidence here," and walked out.

Making her way down the hall, Sara stopped off in the break room, filled up a Styrofoam cup with what passed as coffee, and winced at the first sip of the burnt liquid. Continuing to the bullpen, she was so engrossed in re-reading the details of the Meeks case, the hoots and hollers of the detectives didn't even register at first. Setting everything down on her desk, she watched her co-workers jokingly mock her; some gave her thumbs up signs, others just gave her wolf whistles. When she turned to the room in general and gave a bow, the laughter was deafening.

Detective Vartann approached her carrying an old, worn bullhorn, with a chip in the corner. Holding up his hand, he waited for the cacophony of noise to die down before ceremoniously handing it to Sara. "Detective Sidle, in honor of your first press conference, we would like to present you with the Bullsh… um… horn Award. Congratulations."

Laughing, she looked at the object in her hands, noting the scars, duct tape, and assorted bits of glue holding it together. With a fake, watery sniff, she looked at everyone and purposely made her voice wobbly. "I would like to thank the academy for recognizing my work as true genius. I'd like to thank my husband, who is currently bent over some bugs in the desert. And I'd like to thank my colleagues for giving me this piece of crap."

As the laughter died down, Sara picked up her files, made a general wave to the room, and headed back to interrogation. When she entered, Meeks and his lawyer both looked supremely pleased with themselves. Sitting across from them, with her back to the small room behind the two-way mirror, Sara opened the file and laid out pictures of the dead man.

Meeks, for all his size – tall, broad shoulders, and muscular – looked like he was about to vomit, as he stared at the images. _How the mighty have fallen_, Sara mused to herself.

Leaning back in her chair, Sara bluntly stated, "His name is Garrison Marks. According to the autopsy, when your truck smashed into him, a piece of a broken rib was shoved through his lung. The shard, after putting a nice hole in his lung, continued on to puncture the pulmonary artery. He bled into his lungs and asphyxiated."

Standing, Sara composed her features to look subtly menacing, as she leaned across the table. Slamming down more pictures of his truck and the trail of blood that led back to the scene from Meek's house, Sara's voice rose, "We've got witnesses that put you at the scene. They gave us your license plate number. We've got a blood trail straight to your house. We've got the victim's blood smeared across your truck."

"Hold it!" the lawyer shouted. Mallory Christopher whispered in a low tone with her client, while Sara gathered the photos back into a neat pile. Sitting back in her seat, she asked, "Do you have anything to say for yourself, Mr. Meeks? Because you're looking pretty damn guilty to me."

Meeks' dark face turned ashen, before his lawyer said, "Mr. Meeks was out last night, but he wasn't driving the car." Momentarily, Sara watched the man's face get its color back. As soon as he gave her a smug look, Sara went in for the kill.

"The funny thing is that _only_ Mr. Meeks' fingerprints were on the steering wheel," Sara stated. When the lawyer opened her mouth to speak, Sara raised her hand. She'd anticipated the question. "I'll bet you're going to tell me the driver wore gloves," she continued. "Let's allow the science to speak for that."

Pulling out some photos, the steering wheel was illuminated with clear fingerprints. Sara explained, "There are clear prints all over the steering wheel. If someone else had driven the vehicle, we would expect to see some of the _crisp_ and _clean_ fingerprints to be smudged a little… somewhere. However, _all_ of the prints remain _crisp_ and _clean_. That tells me that the only person driving the car was Mr. Meeks."

Locking eyes with the man in question, Sara said, "You are going under for this. Add assaulting an officer and resisting arrest, while we're at it. You clocked Officer Davis pretty good when he tried to arrest you." With a satisfied smirk on her face, Sara started to rise. The smirk turned to a predatory smile of victory, when Christopher said, "Wait. What kind of deal can you give us?"

**X X X**

In Provo, Utah, fifty eight year old Eliza Smith finished dusting off her Hummel figurines. Humming softly to herself, she made her way to the kitchen, where she poured herself a tall glass of ice cold lemonade, and carried it on the flowery tray to the cozy living room. The ten o'clock news had already started, and she frowned. Eliza hated watching the news – depressing, depressing, depressing.

And then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The local ABC affiliate KTVX was showing pictures of women found in the desert. Eliza's hands went slack. It seemed to take forever for the tray to fall to the ground, as those hands began to shake and a racking sob broke from her throat.

As the glass hit the hardwood floor, it shattered, sending shards of glass splintering around the room. The drink splattered across her feet and legs. Eliza didn't even notice when her damp slippers crunched over the fragments, and she picked up the telephone. Staring at the television, her breath shuddered, and she punched in the number on the screen.

"Las Vegas Tip Line, how can I help you?" Answered the soft female voice on the other end of the line.

Eliza's breath hitched, and she sternly reprimanded herself with, _Calm down, Eliza. Calm down!_ When the voice asked, "Hello? Is anyone there?" she finally responded.

"Y-y-yes. My name is Eliza Smith. I think I just saw my sister, Sariah. Sira. We called her Sira, and she's been missing near fifteen years."

**X X X**

Sara was sitting at her desk, filling out paperwork regarding Meeks' arrest, answering calls on her desk phone, when they trickled through from the tip line. They'd gotten over a two hundred calls since the plea went out to the public. A large segment of the tips had been filtered out as pranks or false tips with basic checks on missing persons. Another large portion was being checked out by local law enforcement.

When her cell phone rang just as she hung up her desk phone, she flipped it open, answering, "Sidle."

"Detective Sidle, this is Mary from the tip line. I'm sorry to be calling on your cell, but both you and Detective Curtis were on your desk phones." There was a small pause, before the operator said, "I believe I have someone you are going to want to speak with."

Glancing at the black phone sitting on her desk, Sara said, "Patch it through."

When the antiquated telephone rang, Sara answered, "Detective Sidle, how can I help you?" and was met by silence on the other end of the line.

Eventually, the watery voice of the caller said, "Detective, my name is Eliza Smith. Over fourteen years ago… almost fifteen years ago, my sister, Sariah Young disappeared from the library at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas."

All around her, the voices began to dim when Sara stood up and beckoned Sofia over with a wave of her hand.

"Ms. Smith, why don't you start at the beginning. Tell me about your sister."

"I-I don't know where to start," the older woman whispered. As gently as she could, Sara said, "Let's start with her name." As the older woman talked, Sara wrote 'Sariah Young' on a sheet of paper, and handed it to Sofia.

**X X X**

By the time Sara got off the phone with Eliza Smith, the detective had garnered a great deal of Sariah Young's background. After hanging up, Sara turned to Sofia, and frantically wrote out her notes in long-hand, deciphering the partial words she'd written down during the interview.

"Sariah Young, who went by the nickname Sira, moved to Vegas over fifteen years ago to study chemistry at UNLV. According to her sister, Sira didn't start college until after her husband died, when she was in her late thirties. She was thirty eight when she went missing. The police found no threats, no struggle, nothing."

"While you were on the phone, I started going through Missing Persons cold cases," Sofia stated, pulling out printouts and laying them across Sara's desk. Grabbing one of the copies of the photo re-creations based on a skeleton, Sofia laid it next to the picture of the missing woman. "I found a case on Sariah Young, dated back fourteen years and almost ten months ago."

Within an hour, Sara located the original case file. She'd have to wait until morning to retrieve it from archives. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she let out a sigh, and then took a swig of the acid that passed as coffee. It was three in the morning. Her head was buzzing from lack of sleep and the occasional caffeine jolt, so she jumped when she felt a hand land on her shoulder. Wearily glancing over, she grinned at Brass.

"You've got Millicent Barker's parents arriving sometime tomorrow, you closed the Meeks case, and you're running out of adrenaline," he stated. Brass glanced around the bullpen – most of his detectives were out on calls – and the tips had dwindled to few and far between. With his lips slightly turned up, he softly said, "Go home, Sara. Get some rest. If anything else comes in, I'll give you a call."

The burning in her eyes and the involuntary yawn did nothing to plead her case, when she opened her mouth to argue. Instead, she gave a small laugh, shook her head, and said, "Sure, boss."

She had to chuckle, when she heard him sardonically mutter for her ears only, "So the best way to get you to respect my authority is to find you when you're dead tired. Good to know." With a wave of her hand, she grabbed her jacket, made her way to her car, and drove home on auto-pilot.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: Killing Time – Chapter 7  
****Rating:** T  
**Author: CSIGeekFan  
****Words:** 3800 (approximately)  
**Pairing(s):** Grissom/Sara, Sara  
**Disclaimer:** If we can't auction off Grissom, can we auction off Nick?  
**Summary:** Sara has returned to Vegas in a little different capacity… and walked right into a cold case turned serial killing.  
**Beta Notes:** Thank you so much seattlecsifan and moomarie. You two are the best betas in the world… smart, funny, and always willing to read my crap.

**X X X**

When the alarm went off at five o'clock that morning, Sara batted her hand out, slapped it down on the edge of the nightstand before finally hitting the snooze button on the annoying buzzing alarm clock, and groaned. While she felt rested and had slept quite well, she just wasn't in the mood to move yet, opting to continue breathing into her pillow. Laying face-down on the bed, she used her other hand to reach for her husband. She started _really_ waking up when all she felt were cool sheets on his side of the bed.

As the fog in her brain began to lift, she turned her head and realized he wasn't home yet. Her mind sharpened, and she turned to her side, remembering the events of the previous day – the press conference and the probable identification of Sariah Young.

Brass had clocked her out early, knowing Sara had to meet with the parents of one of the vics, Millicent Barker, the next morning. They were due around nine o'clock at the PD.

Groggily sitting up, she eventually motivated herself to move, and staggered toward the bathroom and a scalding shower. In the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of day old coffee and winced at the bitter, burnt taste, then poured the awful brown liquid into the sink.

By the time she was ready to leave, case files in hand, Sara was ready to make a couple of stops, and aimed her vehicle toward the lab. First, she needed to check in with her husband. While it was typical that they could go days missing each other at home, they did their best to never go twenty four hours without at least _seeing_ each other – even if it meant a road trip to a crime scene just to say 'hi'. It could be a pain to follow the routine, but it was a concession they'd both made to their strange schedules.

Driving toward the LVPD forensics lab, she cranked the radio blaring the local rock station in an attempt to get her blood pounding. There was something about loud music that could rattle the teeth and wake the dead that served as a great tool to get the blood humming. At seven o'clock, she was sitting in her husband's office, wondering where he was. She'd sent him a text message, but knew if he was busy, he might not respond. After waiting fifteen minutes, she decided to take care of the other reason she was at the lab.

She found Nick in the break room, looking like hell and chugging boiling hot coffee like it was Mountain Dew. Leaning against the doorframe, she raised her eyebrows and watched the Texan finish off the last of the steaming liquid before placing the cup in the sink. When he turned around, she caught sight of the dark shadows around his eyes and grinned.

"I do believe you've teased me a time or two about being tired. My turn. You look like crap, Nick," she quipped, and watched his brown eyes sparkle.

"True," he replied, a broad grin gracing his face. "You're a lot of fun to rib, darlin'," he added with a wink. Smiling wide, he half-laughed, "And I _know_ I look like crap." Sara had to grin, because even the collar of his tan button down shirt was skewed in a haphazard manner, leaving him looking rumpled.

Making her way into the room, Sara dropped down onto the couch, while Nick took a seat at the table. Getting down to business she said, "I need all your notes on the desert case. In particular, I need to know everything you know about Millicent Barker."

For a moment she contemplated her upcoming visit with the victim's parents and added, "I'm meeting her parents later this morning and they're going to want some answers. I need to know what I can give them… and what I can't."

"Wait right here," Nick soberly replied. "I've got 'em at my desk."

He wasn't gone twenty seconds, when Grissom walked in the door to the break room and gave her a cocky grin. She laughed when he said, "My wife – the PR liaison for the LVPD."

Taking a seat next to her, he grasped her hand, and squeezed. "I talked to Brass – he's working my double homicide at Lake Mead. He said you did a great job. He also said he kicked you home for some sleep." Dropping his chin, Grissom looked over the top of his glasses in an assessing gaze and smirked, "You slept for a change."

"Yeah, well, you might want to do the same for Nick, because I think he's about to just tip over and we're all going to have to yell 'Timber'," Sara replied, not bothering to hide the grin on her face, and watched Grissom's brows raise. When he began to chew on his cheek, she knew he was contemplating her words. She figured he'd get a full view when the man in question returned with the reports.

Onto a different topic, Sara thoughtfully said, "I saw a couple of news reports, and they went about as expected. The photos were shown; the anchor man or woman made a statement, and the tip line phone number was put up on the screen." Leaning into his arm a bit, she added, "It worked, though. We got a hit on another victim last night. That gives us two. Sariah Young. Her sister is sending us things that may have their mother's DNA on them, so we can do mitochondrial DNA analysis for confirmation."

Their conversation was interrupted when Nick walked back into the break room with a stack of files. Handing them over, he gave a huge yawn, and Grissom said, "Go home, Nick. Get some sleep. You're almost maxed out on overtime for the month, and it's not even half through."

As Nick was about to leave, Sara called out to him. When he turned, she gave him a huge grin and said, "Meeks is already pleading out. Getting the photos of the fingerprints on the steering wheel was a stroke of genius, as was providing a photo and video log of the blood traces from his house back to the scene."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Nick left the lab whistling; obviously in a better mood than just minutes before.

Shaking her head in amusement and smiling wide, Sara discreetly glanced around before giving her husband a peck on the cheek. "I'm due at the PD," she murmured. Sauntering out of the break room, she gave a gentle reminder of, "Tomorrow's date day," and waited for his smiling nod of confirmation. In the back of her mind, she knew there was always a 50:50 chance the date would get cancelled, but they both enjoyed the anticipation of possibilities.

Refocusing herself, she headed to the PD, and mentally prepared herself during the drive. Sara _knew_ the kinds of questions the parents would ask; and she reconciled herself to having to disappoint them with her own lack of information.

**X X X**

Seated at her bland metal desk, Sara reviewed the meager data provided in the autopsy of Millicent Barker. Her ribs showed what the M.E. suspected were knife wounds, based on the four clear cuts Robbins had found. The knife itself would have been large, but not overly large… probably something akin to a butcher's knife.

Millicent herself had been nineteen at the time of her disappearance. She'd moved away from her home in Wyoming to attend UNLV on a scholarship provided by the Chemistry Department. She'd been just a teenager when she vanished off the face of the earth. Sara remembered it well, as she remembered the parents.

When she was paged to reception, Sara found Larry and Susan Barker sitting in the perpetually uncomfortable LVPD plastic chairs. For a moment, she studied the couple. Susan Barker was small… smaller than Sara remembered, with an aura of fragility about her. Her hand was encompassed by the weather-worn hand of her husband, Larry, and their heads were bent together. Sara remembered the basics of the couple. Susan Barker was a stay-at-home wife and mother, opting to raise her kids rather than put to work her college degree in English. Larry Barker owned an auto repair shop in Cheyenne. Nearly three years ago, they had struck Sara as down-to-earth, straight forward people. They still did, but there was an air of perpetual fatigue about them that had developed over the past few years.

Pulling in a calming breath, Sara stepped towards the couple and saw recognition flicker through the husband's eyes as he stood. Reaching out her hand to Larry Barker, she grasped his rough, calloused fingers and said, "Mr. and Mrs. Barker… thank you for coming all this way." As they stood, Larry Barker murmured, "Detective, please call us Larry and Susan," to which Sara replied, "And please call me Sara." Escorting them down the halls of LVPD, she explained, "I've reserved a conference room if you'll come with me."

Leading them to a small room with nothing but a table and a few chairs, she took a seat and set the file on the table on the rectangular metal table, while everyone sat on another set of LVPD-issued uncomfortable chairs.

Sara pulled out a photo of the clay and plaster re-creation Teri Miller had provided, and placed it in front of the parents before she said, "I remembered your daughter when I saw this. I never forgot her face." Catching each of their gazes in turns, Sara soberly stated, "I never forgot your faces, either. I was a CSI at the time, and I pulled this case, but… the evidence just wasn't there." She remembered them well from their time in Vegas years ago, when their child had gone missing, and Sara could see the extra lines on the couple's faces since she'd last seen them. Some might have been caused by age, but she knew most were the outward effects of long-term pain and worry.

"W-w-what happened?" Susan stammered as quiet tears trickled down her thin, pale cheeks unnoticed. "Who did this?"

Letting out a long silent breath, Sara replied, "Right now, all we have is speculation – that she was stabbed."

Sara watched Larry lean into his wife and he quietly said, "You might want to wait outside, honey. You may not want to hear or see this."

The flash of irritation across the middle-aged woman's face, followed by the angry, "Of course I'm staying. I want… No, I _need_ to know what happened to my baby."

When Larry turned to Sara and nodded hard once, she reached into the folder and pulled out a picture of her remains. Quietly, she asked, "Sir, are you sure you want to see this?"

His rapidly breathed out, "Yes," had her turning over the photos of the young woman's remains.

When Susan gasped and sat back in her chair with her eyes closed, her husband reached out, laid his hand on her shoulders, and dropped his head. While she quietly cried, great racking sobs broke through the large man, and he shook violently from it all. Time ticked by slowly as the grieving parents wept over the loss of their beloved child. Trapped in a moment of time, they began to grieve again because most hope they'd held onto for so long was dwindling before them.

Sara had many times heard the platitude, _'The not knowing is the worst'_ but at that particular moment, she had a hard time believing it.

"What do we need to do?" Larry asked, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, and sitting upright. A fierce look of determination crossed his face when he sternly stated, "I want them caught. Whoever did this, I want them caught."

Quietly, Sara replied, "I intend to do just that."

**X X X**

After collecting hair and swab samples from Susan Barker, Sara bid them goodbye on the promise to give them regular updates on the case's progress. Wearily she made her way to her desk and dropped heavily into her chair. It was nearly eleven, and she looked around to see Day shift detectives busy at work. She had two more stops to make before heading home for the rest of the day.

First, she made a trip to the Archives annex of the LVPD, where cold cases were stored, and picked up a couple of boxes, containing the case notes for Sariah Young and Millicent Barker.

Half an hour later, she was walking into the lab, and watching the Day shift workers scurry here and there. She'd almost completely passed Greg's desk before she realized the young CSI sat there, slumped over, staring at his computer screen, and repeatedly hitting the _Enter_ button on the keyboard.

"Busy shift?" she asked, once she stood behind him.

"Yeah," he murmured, his head propped on a fist that was held up by his elbow on the desk. Punching the enter key once more, he sighed, "I'm getting nowhere."

All of a sudden Greg rapidly blinked and looked around. "How late is it?" he asked, peering at Sara as if seeing her for the first time.

"Lunchtime," she replied.

When he frowned and asked, "What are _you_ doing here this late, Sara?" she smiled and held up an evidence bag.

"I've got DNA samples from Susan Barker for comparison against what we believe to be Millicent Barker's skeletal remains," she replied. Stepping back, she watched Greg rise and he walked with her down the hall. "I'm dropping them off with Evan to see if I can convince him to put it at the head of the line," she stated. As Greg nodded and waved on his way toward the locker room, Sara stepped into the DNA lab and smiled at the man therein.

"Hey, Evan… what kind of bribes are you up for today?" she asked, as the young, blond Day shift's DNA tech grinned and held out his hand.

"For you, anything," he answered with a friendly wink and waggle of his brows.

**X X X**

That night arriving at work, Brass almost immediately handed her an assignment. "We've got a B&E at the Circus Circus." At her upraised eyebrows at being assigned what should have been handled by an on-scene officer, Brass continued, "When it was reported to the hotel's Security, they found blood. An officer is on scene." Handing over the slip, he sighed, "That's about all I know. You'll be acting primary on this and you're solo."

With the call information in her fingers, Sara grabbed her jacket from her chair and headed out.

Walking through the hall on the tenth floor of the hotel section of the casino, it was pretty obvious by the partially open hotel door, and officer standing outside, precisely which room was the scene. The shell-shocked maid, quietly crying into a hand towel, and someone who Sara assumed to be the hotel manager, stood discreetly at the far end of the corridor. The room itself was about halfway down on the left of the softly lit hallway.

Recognizing the police officer, Sara smiled and greeted, "Hey, Lee," as she approached. "What have we got?"

Standing between Sara and the door, Officer Lee Carson, acted a little… unusual. His ebony skin actually looked a bit gray, and she felt a little sorry for the young fresh-faced cop. Sara supposed the young man's current state had to do with the overwhelming stench of iron. He didn't look anywhere but straight down the hall and away from the room when he explained, "The maid keyed into the room to bring extra towels, and found _that_." Instead of turning to look toward the room, Carson simply stepped out of the way, giving Sara access, and waved his hand toward the room.

As she passed the uniformed cop, Sara caught his eye and said, "Let me take a look, and then I'm going to want to talk to the maid and manager." Taking a deep breath and holding it, she walked into the room. The breath, intended to ward off the overwhelming stench, whooshed out instantly. The first words out of her mouth were, "Well, damn." Immediately glancing down, she realized she simply _couldn't_ go in – she'd leave her footprints in the blood. From what she could see, everything was coated in the thick red liquid. It was splashed across the bed, the floor, the walls… it was on _everything_.

The window was at the far end of the room. Between the entry way and the curtain covered glass stood a queen size bed. The headboard was on the right side, while a TV lay against the left wall. Nightstands stood on both sides of the bed– each adorned by a small, generically shaded lamp. One of the lamp shades let go of a glopping droplet of blood, and Sara watched the semi-congealed mass fall.

Glancing up, she noted that the blood hadn't managed to make it all the way to the ceiling, but there were some prominent splatter patterns near the bed. A couple of walls sported what looked to be Jackson Pollock-esque artwork in red.

"Well…." She stated, unsure of what _could_ be said. Eventually, she reached out with a gloved hand and closed the door. Approaching Carson, she said, "Keep the area secure. I need to talk to the maid and the manager." Sara frowned when she added, "We need to know who was staying in this room."

**X X X**

At one point, Sara relieved Carson, when the 'kid' started gagging. While he rushed down the hall and hurled into a trash can placed discreetly near the elevator doors, Sara shook her head. She'd met the young cop on a couple of other occasions. He came across as a clean-cut (literally, with a nearly shaved head), all-American kind of guy that was doing the job because he felt it was his duty to help people. He was also very, very green, and he couldn't have been over twenty two or twenty three years old.

Watching him numbly walk back up the hall with a sallow pained look on his face, Sara picked up her cell when it began to buzz in her pants pocket. A two minute conversation had her heaving out a sigh.

"Carson," she said, hanging up, a frown settling over her face. "It looks like we're going to be here for awhile. They're working to clear a CSI from a triple murder in north east Vegas." Since they didn't have a body, Sara's case had been dropped to the bottom of the heap. Without a kit, Sara couldn't approach the scene without risking contamination. So, Carson and Sara just leaned against the wall outside the room, with Carson on guard duty while Sara began to work up mental murder boards on her only confirmed open homicide case – the desert victims.

In the end, it had taken two mind-numbing hours of questioning and waiting before a CSI arrived. By that time, Sara had accomplished two things. First, she'd run through her serial case three times in her mind; and second, she'd concretely decided Officer Carson's endurance was something to be admired. While he casually leaned, she was about to rip off the head of the first person to show, because the one thing Sara Sidle had little of was patience when it came to a case. She was so wrapped up in this thought she didn't even hear the elevator ding.

"It's killing you, isn't it," Catherine laughed, sauntering down the hall with her case in her hand, and openly admiring the frown on the annoyed detective's face. "You're just itching to get into that room and collect evidence." Sara felt the tension seep away and couldn't stop the grin when Catherine smirked, "_Aren't_ you."

Smiling broadly, Sara said, "Not on your life. I think once you take a look at this, _you_ won't want to work it, either." Her point was proved when Catherine laid her hand flat on the door and gently pushed it open. The whooshing huff of breath that escaped the blonde CSI's lips had Sara happily chirping, "This is going to take you forever."

"Now… care to hear about who is staying in this room?" Sara asked, and received, a look from Catherine.

"This room was reserved under the name of Ruth Atkins," Sara began. "She's down here with her husband, Frank for a fun-filled weekend of gambling, dining, and cooking. Apparently there's a chef's competition here this weekend, and Ruth Atkins is a finalist." Glancing through her notes, she added, "They don't have a car service or reservation listed as part of the package they purchased, so I'm hoping you'll find something to indicate method of transportation." Flipping her notebook closed, Sara blew out a slow, audible breath and said, "All we know is that the people in this room are from Seattle, their room was untouched when the maid serviced it yesterday, and something went seriously wrong in there." As an after-thought, she added, "The manager sent up a request for all surveillance tapes in and around the casino and hotel for the last 36 hours. And the scene was found by a maid bringing up extra towels."

For a moment, Sara just waited. After being a CSI for so long, and working with the same people for years, Sara knew how each person on graveyard operated. With Catherine, it was get a quick overview of the entire scene before moving, and then start methodically moving through each section of the room. Pulling on a pair of booties, she made her way into the room, and Sara watched her start taking pictures. Occasionally, Catherine would stop, take note of something in her mind or on her clip board, photograph it, and move on.

"Well, if this is human," Catherine finally stated, "then there's a body _some_where."

Then the night took a turn. After watching Catherine move around the room for nearly thirty minutes, Sara realized she wasn't accomplishing anything useful and said, "I'm going to leave you in the capable hands of Officer Carson for the time being. I'm heading back to the PD to start making some phone calls to contacts in Seattle."

She hadn't even turned to leave, when Catherine's head whipped up from beside the bed, and she loudly queried, "Hey Sara?"

Turning to look, Sara slowly let out a breath and said, "Well, that's something."

Catherine held up a finger… and it wasn't hers.


End file.
